


To Shield and To Protect

by afterthenovels



Series: To Shield and To Protect [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, multi-chapter, nothing too graphic though, warnings for violence and mentions of homophobia and hate-related crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 111,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterthenovels/pseuds/afterthenovels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>shield</strong> - <em>verb</em>; 1. protect someone or something from something dangerous, unpleasant, or risky, 2. prevent from being seen<br/><strong>protect</strong> - <em>verb</em>; 1. keep safe from harm or injury</p>
<p>Blaine is a college drop-out who ends up becoming a not-so-professional bodyguard of one Kurt Hummel, a costume designer who has been getting anonymous letters. It should be just a simple job, a simple distraction from past mistakes, but of course nothing is ever that simple in Blaine's life.</p>
<p>(AU. Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, but certain events from canon are mentioned in the fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any questions about this fic, my tumblr can be found [here](http://afterthenovels.tumblr.com). The masterpost for this fic can also be found [on my tumblr](http://afterthenovels.tumblr.com/post/37191799230/masterpost-to-shield-and-to-protect).
> 
> There are three people who have made this whole fic possible and who deserve my endless gratitude. First of all my darling-dear, the most amazing person ever and my awesome beta, Essi, who took the time to check my text, talked me through several nervous breakdowns, listened to my whining and cheered me on endlessly. Secondly there is Inez, who has been a great support, helped me with some of the songs in this fic, complimented me even though she really didn't have to and basically rooted for me every step of the way. And thirdly Em, who has been adorably excited about this text, even though she didn't first even know what it was about, and who has been nothing but encouraging ever since I started talking to her about writing. This fic is dedicated to all three of them.

It's Cooper who comes up with the idea.

They're sitting in Cooper's living room one Friday evening, Blaine nursing a glass of water while Cooper gulps down the last drops of his beer. Blaine feels tired and his muscles are aching – his boxing might have been a bit too intense earlier that day, but somehow the pull and weariness in his hands and shoulders feel good. They are like reminders of his own strength, of the things he is able to do, pushing away any hesitation and doubt.

Cooper puts his empty beer can on the table and leans back, watching Blaine curiously. "How was your day?"

Blaine shrugs. "Okay. Went for a run, boxed a bit. Same as usual."

Something disappointed flashes in Cooper's eyes, but he doesn't say anything, and Blaine pretends not to notice, giving Cooper a small reassuring smile instead. He and Cooper have had their problems; they didn't talk properly for years when Blaine was in high school, but when he dropped out of college six months ago, Cooper was the one who asked him to come to Los Angeles and live with him. After all those years of ignoring each other and not saying how they really felt, Blaine is grateful for this easy camaraderie with his brother.

Still, they've had their deep and meaningful conversations too many times already, and Blaine's not in the mood for one right now, not when his body feels pleasantly tired and his mind empty.

"How about yours?" he asks, trying to steer the conversation back to a pleasant topic.

Blaine knows he's succeeded when a wicked grin takes over Cooper's face. "Well, I got that gig."

"Seriously? Coop, that's great!" Blaine laughs, leaning over to give his brother a quick one-handed hug. "So which award will you be presenting? The best supporting actress in a foreign newspaper ad?"

"Hardy-har-har, that's not even a real category." Cooper punches his arm playfully. "No, I think it's actually going to be one of the bigger categories. It's not the Oscars, obviously, but it's still nice to be recognized in your own field."

"Well, they would be crazy if they didn't get the Free Credit Rating Today guy, also known as the 'Do you know what you children are doing on the Internet?' guy, to present at the Annual Advertisers' Awards." Blaine slumps back on the sofa, smiling easily. He's always in the mood for talking about Cooper's silly ad campaigns.

"Ugh, that Internet campaign was so weird," Cooper groans and runs his fingers through his hair. "But yeah, like I said, it's nice. There's gonna be a red carpet and all."

"Screaming fangirls?" Blaine grins.

"Oh God, I hope not. They are always so... too enthusiastic. I used to like it, but these days it's just a hassle. Did I tell you about that one time this sweet-looking old lady almost ripped my suit? One of my best suits at that?" Cooper shudders.

Blaine laughs, remembering that Cooper doesn't actually have fangirls – he has fanwomen, older ladies whose husbands have died or left them and who send disturbing letters to Cooper's fanmail address. Blaine shakes his head and takes a sip of his water. The day had been hot, and he should have drunk more after his run, but the adrenaline had felt too strong for a break. He'd gone straight to the basement and hit the punching bag for hours, feeling the strikes in his whole body, forgetting everything else. He'll probably regret it tomorrow, but for now he'll just bask in the pleasant feeling.

"Maybe you should get a bodyguard, to protect you from the grandmas," he jokes.

Cooper bursts out laughing – but then his face suddenly turns more serious, in a way that Blaine knows means something stupid is usually about to happen. It's the same smile that Cooper had on his face when he decided to climb on the roof of their parents' house over fifteen years ago and when he had the brilliant idea of taking Blaine to a gay bar on his twenty-first birthday.

"What?" Blaine asks warily.

Cooper's smile widens as he turns to look at Blaine. "You could be my bodyguard."

Blaine promptly chokes on his water. After some spluttering and a few slaps on his back from Cooper, he snorts. "Yeah, right."

“I'm serious.”

"Well, I'm not. Have you seen your little brother lately, Coop? Emphasis on the word little. I'm 5'8 and... tiny. Not exactly bodyguard material," Blaine says, waving his hand in the air. "Not to mention that I don't want to be a bodyguard in the first place."

"But your height could be your advantage!" Cooper gushes, and oh god, he's getting excited. Blaine groans. This can't be good.

"Just think about it! No one would see you as a threat, but you're scarily strong – I've seen you box – and your height would make you almost invisible, so you wouldn't steal my spotlight," Cooper goes on and ruffles Blaine's hair affectionately, indicating that he's at least half-joking. "But your fists could still protect me! And besides, you're really good at talking! So, you know, you could talk someone out of hurting me or my suits. It's perfect!"

"Are you sure you had just one beer?" Blaine asks, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Because you must be drunk to come up with this ridiculous idea."

"It's not ridiculous, it makes perfect sense! You're my brother, so I trust you. You're strong and fast. People would underestimate you and regret it. And it'd give you something to do other than running and boxing." Cooper's smile falters. "You... You can't hide in my house for the rest of your life, Blainey."

And with that sentence they are once again back on uncomfortable territory. Blaine's shoulders tense, and he feels the easy smile slip away from his face. He's retreating, building a cage around his feelings and memories again, burrowing himself deeper into the sofa cushions. But Cooper keeps talking, hands moving in the air, because even though their relationship is better these days, Cooper still doesn't know when it's time to stop talking.

"You know that I would love to see you go back to college, even if it's a waste of time." Cooper tilts his head. "And I would love to see you become a music teacher, like you wanted, to sing silly songs with those stupid kids until they beg you to stop and – what did you say that one night when you were really drunk? Make art and help people? I would love it more than anything to see you do that, B."

Blaine keeps his eyes to the floor, his legs twitching to get away, to go back to the basement to his punching bag and boxing gloves, to make Cooper _shut up_. They were having such a comfortable evening and of course Cooper has to ruin it.

"But I also know that..." Cooper chances a glance at Blaine, looking almost regretful. "That you won't go back. Not yet, at least. And don't say you're fine, I know you're fine, I freaking live with you, Blaine – but you can't just do nothing for the rest of your life. I want to see my kid brother doing something else than moping around the house and punishing himself, but I guess college isn't an option right now, not after... everything."

Blaine swallows roughly.

Cooper sighs. "And I'm not saying you should become a professional bodyguard, but maybe you could just... Do something. And maybe this could be some sort of a distraction?"

Blaine stays silent, hoping that if he doesn't say anything Cooper will just stop and let him be. He doesn't say that he still dreams of going back to college one day, dreams of graduating and getting his degree, doesn't say it because he doesn't have any idea if and when he'll actually do it, when he's ready to do it. They are thoughts he ignores most of the time, buries them underneath boxing and running and playing his guitar and reading as many books as he can. But Cooper, familiar and irritating but still his dear brother who knows everything about him, which is both great and awful at the same time, somehow always manages to hit his weak spot:

"And you could protect people. Help them. Help me. You like that, don't you?"

Blaine turns his face away from Cooper, staring out of the window and seeing nothing. "But I don't like hurting them," he murmurs.

Cooper reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not asking you to beat people up, B. You'd be protecting me. I don't even have that many crazy fans and the ones I do have are fragile old women, so you'd mainly just steer me away from them and make sure no one gets close enough to rip my suit apart. And if they did, you could, um... bat them away? But not like really hurt them," he hurries to add. "I know you took some self-defense courses in college and after... after Sadie Hawkins. So it would be like self-defense. A lighter version of self-defense?"

Blaine turns to look at his brother. Cooper looks earnest, and Blaine huffs out a laugh. "You're not joking, are you? You're actually serious about this. You actually want me to be your bodyguard, to do something that insane as a distraction?"

Cooper shrugs. "I want you to be happy. I want you to... Dammit, Blaine, I don't want you to be some sort of cold-hearted Arnold Schwarzenegger look-a-like, I want you to help people and protect them because despite what you think, I know that's what you love to do. That's what you were born to do, and you're good at it. And maybe you should be reminded of that."

All signs of excitement are gone from Cooper's face now, and Blaine feels almost uncomfortable looking at him, so trusting and serious. He doesn't say what he's thinking out loud because Cooper can probably see it in his face anyway – that he doesn't think he can help people anymore, not after everything that happened before he dropped out, after he failed so badly. He doesn't think he even knows how to help himself anymore, lying on his bed every night and staring at the ceiling, thinking of everything he could have done differently, everything he did wrong – but maybe this could be his redemption. His atonement. If he doesn't fail this, maybe he can move on.

Maybe.

Blaine sighs. Cooper is still staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and for a moment Blaine is jealous of him, of his talent to hide his feelings behind his face, because Blaine knows too many people can read his own face like an open book. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Fine."

"What?"

"I said fine. I'll do it. I'll try it out at the awards gala," Blaine says, hunching his shoulders.

Cooper doesn't scream, doesn't jump on the sofa table and do his famous Chandler Bing imitation. Instead he smiles warmly, scoots closer and wraps his arm around Blaine's shoulders, giving him an encouraging squeeze. "That's my brother." Then, after a moment, the ridiculous smile is back. "And my bodyguard!" Cooper whoops, and Blaine shoves him away with a laugh.

Later on, when Cooper is actually drunk, they argue about the word bodyguard, both agreeing that it doesn't really give an accurate description of what Cooper wants Blaine to do. Blaine says that he should just be Cooper's assistant or something like that, whereas Cooper is drunkenly adamant on calling him his bodyguard because it sounds 'so cool'. Eventually Cooper wins, mostly because Blaine gets tired of his pestering, and sends a message to his agent saying that he needs one extra ticket to the gala for his bodyguard.

Blaine wonders what on earth he has gotten himself into.

 

\---

 

The night of the gala Blaine puts on his old suit and a dark tie, gelling his hair into submission for the first time in a long while. He makes a nervous joke to Cooper about getting a gun license, and Cooper almost has a heart attack, yelling at him that he won't have his kid brother carrying a gun until Blaine convinces him that he doesn't even want a gun, absolutely _not_ , he was just joking. Cooper still glares at him, tying his own tie in front of his bedroom mirror.

When they arrive at the gala, Blaine doesn't know what to do. At all. Cooper is all smiles and finger guns, pointing intensely at everything and everyone and talking with the people he knows from the industry. Blaine just follows him around, feeling like a lost puppy and thinking that this must be the worst idea Cooper has ever had – even worse than trying to give an acting class to the Warblers during Blaine's senior year. Even Cooper himself admitted that the class wasn't exactly a good idea.

When they get to the red carpet, they're suddenly surrounded by screaming old ladies who all seem to have a thing for Cooper. There are a few younger women and one or two men that Blaine can make out from the crowd, and they all keep singing the Free Credit Rating Today jingle really loudly and terribly off-key. The noise gets even louder when Cooper turns to look at them and gives an exaggerated wink. Blaine thinks his ears might be bleeding.

Then all of a sudden there's a middle-aged woman with crazed eyes reaching for Cooper's arm over the rope. Blaine sees her, moves quickly between the woman and his brother, nudging Cooper away. The woman looks angry and starts screaming at him, a scramble of words and profanities, but Blaine is already moving forward. There's another woman almost immediately, this one a bit younger, staring at Cooper with a hungry expression on her face. Cooper is pointing at the cameras, not even noticing anything else, and Blaine bats the woman's hand away, focuses on keeping his brother away from the crazy ones and Cooper's nice and expensive suit intact.

The gala continues like that, Blaine staying alert the whole night through. Cooper presents the award he was supposed to, actually giving a decent speech but ruining it all by saying the winner's name really loudly (for dramatic effect, he explains later). The food is good and the drinks are free, everyone is laughing and telling stupid advertising jokes, and all the absurd ad campaigns start to slowly make sense to Blaine. Perhaps the copywriters are also drunk when they're coming up with advertisements. That would certainly explain some of the crazy ads Blaine has seen.

Blaine doesn't feel entirely comfortable, but keeps his eyes open in any case. There's only one more incident after the red carpet – they're already leaving when a drunken man, whose face Blaine has definitely seen on some billboard, stumbles into Cooper in the hallway, his words slurring. The man raises his fists weakly, trying to pick a fight. Blaine pushes the man away and leads Cooper out quickly, stopping only when they reach their car.

Cooper slumps on the backseat, pleasantly drunk, and smiles encouragingly at Blaine. "You were really good," he points out.

Blaine shrugs, still feeling the adrenaline pumping inside his veins, still alert, and feeling almost embarrassed how... intense it all was. Intense is probably the word Cooper would use. It was certainly a distraction; Blaine's mind is whirring but not with doubts and memories this time, and he finds himself giving Cooper a small smile.

Cooper nudges his shoulder. "Told ya," he says and closes his eyes sleepily.

 

\---

 

A month or two later Blaine's definitely not a professional bodyguard, even though Cooper keeps calling him that. (He doesn't know if it's a joke or not. You can never be sure with Coop.) Blaine has been to numerous events with Cooper, sometimes even with some of Cooper's friends, keeping greedy hands away from them and pulling them forward when the crowd gets too enthusiastic, but he still doesn't like the word bodyguard. It feels too dangerous and violent, especially when he mostly deals with weird old ladies. Or men. Old men are a surprisingly usual occurrence as well.

Cooper keeps saying he seems more like himself these days, more fine as he had put it. Blaine knows this bodyguard thing (he seriously needs to come up with a better word) is not permanent, not something he wants to do for the rest of his life, and he's just helping Cooper out, but it is a distraction. It makes him feel useful, and it gives him something else to think about, something other than things he cannot change. And he does like helping people. He likes to keep people safe.

Even if it is just from crazy old people.

He's hanging around in Cooper's basement one afternoon, mostly just cleaning his boxing equipment when his phone rings. He fishes out the device from his pocket, expecting it to be Cooper telling him to stop whatever he's doing and come watch something important with him – 'something important' is usually an euphemism for a _Friends_ marathon. Cooper has a weird fascination with Chandler Bing and Joey Tribbiani.

That's why Blaine is a bit surprised to see an old photo of Wes from their Dalton days staring back at him from the screen.

"Hi Wes!" he answers, the smile evident in his voice. "How's the business going?"

Wes grumbles. "Annoying assistants and even more annoying clients, you know the drill."

Blaine laughs. Wes is an agent for a few almost-wealthy people in New York, keeping their businesses in order and their faces well-known. For all Blaine knows Wes could be Cooper's agent if he lived in LA, trying to get him more ad campaigns and making sure he doesn't think way too highly of himself. Wes may complain about his job every time they talk, but Blaine knows Wes is happy. He got married a few years ago, and he likes to keep people in order. Thank goodness he doesn't have a gavel anymore.

Wes coughs awkwardly. "Look Blaine, I'm afraid I'm calling on business."

"Oh?"

"Are you still doing those... bodyguard gigs?" Wes asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice, something Blaine hasn't heard since Wes told him he was going to ask Sarah to marry him.

"Yeah, I am. I mean not at the moment, but sometimes, if Cooper or one of his friends has an event or something," he answers, confused. "Why do you ask?"

Wes sighs, and Blaine immediately knows he's going to hear a rehearsed speech. "Here's the thing. One of my clients told me that this other client of mine, her friend, is getting weird anonymous notes – nothing serious, at least not yet. Mostly they're just flattering, but she's worried about him and almost... forced me to do something about it. There is a big concert coming up and a few other events as well, and she kept telling me that I should get her friend a bodyguard, but I'm not exactly..."

"Excited about the idea?" Blaine offers.

"Yes," Wes exhales. "They're both relatively famous in their own theater circles, but not _famous_ famous, so it feels sort of weird to get him a bulky bodyguard because of a few anonymous notes. But she was really adamant, even threatening to find another agent, and I don't want – I can't afford to lose any of my clients, Blaine. And that's when I remembered you, and you would be ideal for this job. You'd be doing the same you do with Cooper – escorting him to events and parties and making sure no one gets too close, all of it without looking too conspicuous."

Blaine is silent for a moment. He's always wanted to go to New York, even dreamed of applying to a college there, but in the end he decided to stay closer to home. But now, when Ohio holds too many bad memories and Los Angeles is just a pit stop, a place when he didn't have another choice... Well, now New York sounds wonderfully like an even bigger distraction. "So it would be in New York?" he asks eventually.

"Yes, the man works as a costume designer on Broadway," Wes explains. "You could really help me on this one, Blaine. I personally don't think there's any need for a bodyguard, but then again I don't want to lose my clients and better safe than sorry, right?" There's a pause and then Blaine can practically hear Wes smiling like an idiot, something only a few people get to see. "And the pay would be alright as well..."

Blaine laughs. "Well, in that case... But no, seriously, why not. Like I said, I don't have anything at the moment. I'll have to check it with Cooper, but I'm sure he'll send me off gladly. He's been complaining that I'm damaging his, uh, personal life."

"Too much information." Wes sounds mildly horrified.

"Sorry." Blaine snorts. "Anyway, as long as it's not the stereotypical bodyguard gig with violence and guns and bulky muscles, I'll do it. A change of scenery might do me good."

"So you'll come?" Wes checks.

Blaine shrugs even though he knows Wes can't see him. "I'll come. So what's the name of this costume designer I'm supposed to protect?"

"Oh, I don't know if you've heard of him – his name is Kurt Hummel."

Blaine tilts his head, thinking about the articles and websites he's read about Broadway. He doesn't know much about the theater scene, just some basics and the names of a few actors or actresses, and Kurt Hummel doesn't seem to ring any bells. "Doesn't sound familiar," he quips. "But I guess I'll meet him soon enough."


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt is currently having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. The battery of his alarm clock had died and he'd slept too long; it's raining in New York and he's been running around the city all day long, meeting a few clients and looking for very specific fabrics; Rachel is going on and on about those stupid anonymous letters and sending him annoying text messages every ten minutes (or trying to call him but he refuses to answer – he's already busy, thank you very much); he was supposed to meet his agent later today but Wes had cancelled for some reason; and he should have already finished the sketches for his new show yesterday but he hadn't and he really should be working on them right now. Instead he's dragging a shopping bag full of fabrics with him in the pouring rain because he couldn't find a taxi in this weather and his last client wasn't kind enough to wait for five minutes and give him a ride. Naturally.

In addition, his new amazing shoes might be ruined because of the rain. Well, at least he didn't put on his best coat in the morning. Small mercies. He's feeling so annoyed that the mercies are almost tiny at this point.

He finds a moment's refuge in a coffee shop, shaking his umbrella dry at the door before making his way inside. The shop isn't crowded – small mercies, once again – so he gets his mocha faster than expected and retreats to a quiet corner near the window.

Coffee shops really should have more tables for just one person.

Kurt does damage inspection first, letting his coffee cool down for a moment. His shoes might be salvageable if he tends to them immediately, and the fabrics in his shopping bag are still dry (thank goodness, because he really needs that charmeuse to be on its best condition and it is dry-clean only). If he drinks his coffee as fast as he can and manages to get a taxi, he'll still have time to finish his sketches tonight. He has eight unanswered calls and eleven new text messages from Rachel – oh, and one voice mail. Kurt ignores Rachel’s messages and listens to his voice mail instead.

" _Kurt, it's Wes. Can you please answer Rachel? She keeps calling me when she doesn't reach you, and I'm sort of in the middle of something, something involving you actually, but I think she should be the one to tell you what's going on. Just... Let me just say that it was Rachel's idea and she practically forced me to follow through. Okay? Okay. Please answer her._ "

That sounds ominous. Rachel is Kurt's dear friend and he loves that girl – god help him – but she is way too enthusiastic way too often, and Kurt has a dreadful feeling that whatever Rachel has come up with has something to do with those notes he's been getting. There have really been only four letters so far, and Kurt thinks they're harmless: some shy fan who doesn't want to use his or her name telling how special Kurt is and how unique his designs are. There were a few odd lines about wanting to touch his hair or wishing to meet him someday, but really, Kurt was a pretty obsessive personality himself when he was younger, and still is in some cases, so he hadn't batted an eyelash at the notes.

He was the one who dreamed of giving Cooper Anderson's bicep a firm squeeze when he was in high school. He has no right to judge anyone else for being an obsessive fan.

Rachel, however, had gone crazy. At first Kurt had thought that Rachel was just jealous. They'd both gotten their big breaks around the same time, Kurt getting his first bigger production and Rachel her first bigger role, but Rachel hadn't mentioned receiving any fan letters yet, so perhaps she was just throwing a tantrum in a very Rachel Berry-esque way. But then she'd brought the letters to Wes and kept going on and on about how Kurt had a crazy stalker who was going to attack him someday soon – her eyes had gotten that weird glint in them – and Kurt had realized that she was actually serious about the whole thing.

He himself finds the notes flattering, that's all. He came to New York to be himself, to show everyone what Kurt Hummel's made of, to make it big time, and the anonymous notes are the first sign that he's making a difference. Kurt Hummel, a bullied gay kid from Lima, Ohio, is making a difference in the theater world, giving the finger to everyone who ever doubted him. Excuse him if he isn’t having a heart attack because of four anonymous notes.

His phone rings again when he's almost finished with his coffee. It's Rachel, and this time he answers – more because of Wes' request than anything else. He feels bad for Wes more often than he'd like to admit.

"Rachel," he greets her, keeping his voice level.

"Kurt! Oh my god, I've been trying to reach you all day!" Rachel almost screams in his ear.

"Yes, so I heard from Wes who you've also been harassing."

"Psh, he deserves it. Are you going home soon? I have something to tell you and it's urgent."

Kurt sighs, suddenly having the urge to say no and stay in this quiet coffee shop for the rest of the day, alone and without any distractions. But if he doesn't deal with Rachel now, he'll have to deal with her later. "I was going to finish my coffee and then go home to work on my sketches for the rest of the day, but I guess I could squeeze you and your urgent matters in there somewhere."

"Great! I'm actually already at your apartment and Wes should be here anytime soon, and I need to talk to you before he gets here. So can you please hurry? Love you!"

Rachel hangs up before he gets the chance to answer, and for a moment Kurt regrets giving Rachel a key to his new apartment. Then again, he also has the key to Rachel's apartment, so perhaps it makes them even. He stares at his empty coffee cup, wondering why Wes is also coming to his apartment and what could be so important that he has to skip his sketches for a while. Rachel knows how serious he is about his work.

Kurt sighs and gathers up his bag and umbrella. Better get this whole thing over with so that he can actually do some work today. Hopefully the taxis are more welcoming after his coffee break.

 

\---

 

Cooper had driven Blaine to the airport, given him a breath-stopping hug and told him to have fun and behave himself. Blaine had snorted and wiped a lone tear from his cheek. He is going to miss Coop, miss his easy smile and intense pointing. He'd told that to Cooper who had only hugged him again, this time even more tightly. There might have been tears glistening in Cooper's eyes, but Blaine's not completely sure and he didn't want to ask.

Blaine stares at the clouds from his seat in the plane, humming songs to himself and feeling some of his worries leaving him. Distance. Distraction. Two things he didn't even know he needed, but now that he's going somewhere where he can hopefully have them both he feels lighter than he has in months. Maybe even in years. Or maybe the plane-ride's just making him light-headed. He hasn't been in a plane for a long time.

In any case, he smiles broadly to the stewardess and asks her if she could bring him a cup of coffee.

It's raining in New York when he gets there, but Blaine still thinks it's the most beautiful city he has ever seen. Wes picks him up at the airport and hugs him like they're still in high school. Blaine keeps saying that he can't believe he's in New York, how he's regretting that he didn't apply to NYU all those years ago, and Wes just shakes his head fondly at him. They take a taxi to Wes' office and Blaine talks the whole ride through, shutting up only when Wes makes a brief phone call to Blaine's future client, who, according to the voice mail Wes leaves, doesn't apparently know about Blaine yet. This could get awkward.

"I thought we could go over a few things here, give Rachel some time to explain everything to Kurt, and then go to Kurt's apartment to meet him, if that's okay?" Wes asks when they're finally inside his office, away from the grey skies and pouring rain.

"Sure." Blaine is immediately reminded that he isn't here for a vacation; he's here to work, to protect a costume designer on Broadway who's getting anonymous letters. He's not just admiring the city or living out his teenage dreams, so he shakes his head and concentrates. "What did you want to go over?"

"Well, I guess I could show you those notes. Rachel – she's Kurt's friend, the one that forced me to hire you – gave them back to me because she thought Kurt wasn't taking them seriously." Wes hands him a small pile of papers.

Blaine thumbs through the letters. There are four typed notes, all of them looking perfectly discreet and formal, and they don't even sound that dangerous. Mostly there are just a lot of words praising Kurt's designs and even his... voice?

"I thought you said he was a designer?" Blaine asks.

"Well, yes, but he does have a pretty unique voice. Costume design is his passion, but he's sung at different events every now and then and was actually asked to sing at this charity concert in a few months. He's a countertenor," Wes explains.

Blaine whistles. "Countertenor. Geez, we could've won those Regionals with a countertenor."

"I know!" Wes exclaims, his voice disappointed.

Blaine skims through the words and sentences again, and then gives them back to Wes. "Well, I'm obviously not an expert, but they don't sound that bad. There are a few sentences that seem a bit weird – especially the one about wanting to touch his hair – but even Cooper's gotten weirder messages from his fans."

"That's what I said to Rachel, but she wouldn't listen." Wes furrows his brows. "Kurt did just get his big break – he got to do the costumes for a new production of _Cabaret_ last summer – so he's getting more publicity and fan letters are a natural consequence of that. But let's look on the bright side! You being here will calm Rachel down, save Kurt from a possibly crazy stalker and give you a job. So no complaining." Wes hits his desk with his fist, trying to sound encouraging, and then winces.

"Miss the gavel?" Blaine asks sympathetically.

Wes sighs. "Everyday."

 

\---

 

Kurt Hummel lives on a surprisingly calm street in a neighborhood that Blaine for obvious reasons does not recognize. There's a doorman on the ground floor of the building and a fitted carpet that Blaine's feet sink into. The walls are polished and shining even in the dull grey light that filters into the lobby through the glass doors, and Blaine tries not to gawk although he's never been to an apartment building like this before.

"The perks of getting a name in the Broadway circles," Wes explains when they're taking the elevator to the ninth floor where Kurt's apartment is. To Blaine's surprise Wes has a key, but when he asks about it, Wes says that Kurt had just moved in a few weeks ago and gave Wes the key to help him make some arrangements with the movers.

They step into the apartment. It seems big and spacious, almost like Cooper's house in apartment form – with more tasteful and expensive-looking furniture. There are framed posters on the walls of the hallway, and Blaine, lurking behind Wes, has the temptation to look at them a bit more closely. He doesn't have the chance though, because Wes hollers into the apartment and a dark-haired woman appears in the doorway that presumably leads to the kitchen.

"Kurt, is it – oh, it's you, Wesley! Finally, I've been waiting for you all day long!"

The short brunette walks up to them, her eyes blazing with determination. Blaine thinks she looks a bit scary. Maybe his future client is going to need protection from her, not from some anonymous fan.

"Rachel," Wes sighs, sounding long-suffering. He hates his full name, and for that reason Blaine's never called him with it. "It's only a few minutes after four in the afternoon. It's impossible to wait all day long if it's only four."

The woman – Rachel – waves her hand in the air, brushing Wes' words aside. "You get my point. Where's this bodyguard you promised will keep Kurt safe?"

"I never promised –" Wes starts, but Blaine interrupts him by raising his hand and stepping in sight from behind Wes.

"That would be me," he says, and the ensuing look on Rachel's face is the most priceless and comical thing he has ever seen.

"You?" She sounds disbelieving, and if Blaine was more self-conscious about his looks or his clothes, he would feel annoyed. He's wearing a grey henley shirt, a red cardigan and dark jeans – no bowtie this time because he wanted to look more serious – and he knows he looks perfectly fine, so he just stares right back at Rachel, noticing that her dress has pictures of purses on it. It looks nice.

Rachel seems to snap out of her confusion when Blaine doesn't react and shakes her head. "I mean, no offence, you look fine, very dapper and like a gentleman and so on but just not very... bodyguard-y." She gestures to him with her hands.

"Rachel, that's the whole idea." Wes sighs again. "What do you think it would look like if Kurt had a man the size of a closet walking next to him in events? Those notes haven't been violent, and Kurt's already going to hate this whole thing..."

"But how is he supposed to protect Kurt? He's actually shorter than him," Rachel points out. She has a very loud voice, but Blaine manages to hide his surprised flinch.

"Look, I've known Blaine since high school, he's my best friend and he was my best-man, and I trust him completely. He has experience from this kind of work..."

Once again Rachel interrupts Wes, but this time she's staring at Blaine, her eyes narrowed. "You do? Who have you protected before?"

"Well, mostly my brother and some of his friends..." Blaine starts, only to get interrupted by Rachel.

"Your brother? So you've never ever protected a complete stranger? Do you even... Do you even know how to fight?" she asks uncertainly, as if she doesn't really know what bodyguards are supposed to do.

Blaine blinks, and the brief hesitation in Rachel's voice is the moment he starts to understand her and the way she's acting. She seems to think her friend's anonymous fan is a complete lunatic, and she's clearly feeling out of her depth but still trying to do the best she can. Blaine can relate to that. Wes did show the messages to him – they were weird, but there was never any threat in them, only wishes of meeting the amazing Kurt Hummel one day and shaking his hand, like they were written by someone who likes to admire people from afar. The weirdest thing was that they were anonymous. Blaine remembers seeing Cooper's fan letters, and they were always signed, at least in some way.

"I've boxed since I was fourteen, and I have taken several self-defense courses, but I don't think..." Blaine explains, keeping his voice level and calm.

Rachel straightens. "Boxing? Since you were fourteen?" Her eyes flash back to Wes, her voice lowering to a whisper. "Does he have anger issues?"

Blaine laughs. "No, I don't. I'm gay."

Rachel furrows her brows. "Gays can have anger issues as well. I have two gay dads, and while they don't have anger issues, they certainly do get angry at people being idiots and not seeing how talented other people are, and there was once this dancer who..."

"No, I meant..." Blaine interrupts her. "I meant that I was bullied. And that's why I took up boxing, why I took self-defense courses when I was in college. I like to keep myself and others safe."

"Oh." Rachel relaxes a little, her eyes softening but still looking Blaine over curiously. Maybe this is the first time her friend has gotten anonymous messages and she's freaking out, and Blaine gets it, he does. He's a worrier himself. He gets worried every time Cooper says he'll call and doesn't, and Rachel seems like a sweet girl and a good friend – but Blaine is not ready to tell her all of his history just to convince her that he knows what he's doing.

Especially since he doesn't exactly know what he's doing. He's not a professional bodyguard, but Wes seems convinced that he's the best choice.

"Look, Rachel, those notes weren't exactly worrisome," Wes says, letting Blaine off the hook. Rachel opens her mouth, but Wes continues before she gets a word out. "Everyone even a little bit famous gets letters like that. Blaine can keep Kurt safe, I know he can, but he also doesn't attract too much attention to himself like a bulky bodyguard would. You're both new to this whole celebrity thing, and you're not that famous, not yet, so imagine what the press would think if Kurt suddenly had a huge bodyguard following him everywhere. It just attracts unwanted attention. Not all publicity is good publicity, especially in the theater circles."

Rachel puffs her cheeks and then looks at Blaine again. "So you know what you're doing, at least well enough?"

Blaine nods, trying to look confident. If there was ever a time to conjure up the old spirit of the lead vocalist of the Warblers, it's now.

"And you're serious about this whole thing?" Rachel asks.

"I always take people's safety seriously," Blaine answers (even though he _didn't_ , not that one final time, and he will always have to live with it).

Rachel sighs. "Well, I guess you'll do, if Wesley has so much faith in you."

Wes rolls his eyes. "I do. Like I said, he's –"

The lock on the door turns behind them. For a second or two Blaine feels sorry for Wes for never getting to finish his sentences, but then the door opens and a man with coiffed brown hair and a drenched coat steps inside. He has a beat-up umbrella and a shopping bag dangling from his hands, but Blaine barely notices them, staring at the man instead. He has startling eyes and broad shoulders narrowing down to long legs, and his clothes look like they cost way too much but are definitely worth every cent. They make him look breath-taking, accentuating his height, his slenderness and all the right details even if the clothes are currently soaked up with rain water. The man seems tired and annoyed, but he's still standing tall and graceful, and Blaine doesn't think he could even come up with any bland words to describe him.

He's beautiful. That's all Blaine can think of, and he would give anything to see him smile.

The man, however, is currently looking quite surprised by the three people standing in the hallway, arching his eyebrow in question.

"What's going on?" he asks warily, closing the door behind him.

"Kurt, you're home!" Rachel shrieks enthusiastically and claps her hands together.

The name has barely had time to register in Blaine's head when he immediately stops his train of thought about how kissable the man's lips look. Blaine has always had the habit of falling fast and hard; it's been his mistake several times and he should already know better. Kurt, Kurt Hummel that is, is Blaine's possible client. He might not even be gay, and even if he is, Blaine shouldn't... Blaine is not going to fall for his client. He's not going to fall for anyone, he's not going to have feelings for anyone he's supposed to protect.

He is just going to keep Kurt – no, Mr. Hummel sounds better and more distant, Mr. Hummel sounds like Blaine knows what he's doing – he's just going to keep Mr. Hummel safe from everyone, including from Blaine himself, until the notes stop or he isn't needed anymore, and then he'll go back to LA, back to the punching bag in Cooper's basement. Back to the life of minor distractions and old women trying to grab Coop's arm.

Blaine knows one thing about himself for sure: he's good at keeping people safe and helping them – unless he starts to care too much. Cooper is the only exception to that rule, mostly because Cooper protects Blaine as well. He's not going to even try and find out if Kurt Hummel could be the only other exception. He could fail if he did that, and if there's one thing Blaine has promised himself, made himself promise after he fucked up, it's that he's never going to fail again.

He's never going to fail Kurt Hummel. Neither of them can afford it.


	3. Chapter 3

There's obviously some sort of a meeting going on in Kurt's hallway when he comes home. Rachel is clapping her hands nervously, her eyes darting to Wes who looks like he would rather be anywhere else than here. There's also another man that Kurt has never seen before. His eyes lock with the man's, and for a brief moment a shy smile appears on the man's lips until it vanishes quickly, as if Kurt had imagined it, and the man averts his eyes. He has interesting eyes, Kurt notes – their color is beautiful, and they're expressive and kind but with a clear curtain covering... something. Like some sort of reserve dimming the light in the man's eyes.

Kurt has no idea who the man is, but he has to admit the man's quite gorgeous with his long eyelashes, short curly hair and quick smile. He looks surprisingly comfortable, like someone who can accept any situation life throws at him. Perhaps he's some new friend of Rachel's – Rachel is constantly meeting new people and dragging them everywhere with her – who has walked in on a shouting match between Rachel and Wes, and if he is, Kurt feels sorry for him. They aren't exactly shouting matches; usually it's Rachel who shouts while Wes sighs multiple times sounding incredibly long-suffering.

The silence is just starting to get awkward, everyone staring at each other and no one in particular after Rachel's exclamation, when Wes finally opens his mouth.

"Rachel. I think you should explain. In private."

"Oh. Oh!" Rachel’s eyes widen. "Yes, of course. Kurt, could you come with me for a moment? I'm sure you can wait in the living room." She says the last bit to Wes and the mystery man, who both nod and disappear towards the living room.

Rachel drags Kurt into the kitchen where Kurt unceremoniously dumps his bag on the counter. His umbrella had given up after a strong gust of wind, so he just drops it on the floor, deciding to deal with it later.

"How's your day been?" Rachel asks cheerily, obviously avoiding something. Kurt knows Rachel; he knows when she's trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

"It's been awful so far, Rachel, so I'd suggest you tell me right now what Wes and another man I've never met before are doing in my living room and why the mood is so awkward that I'd gladly go back to the pouring rain to avoid it," Kurt sighs, stretching his shoulders.

"Oh, that another man is Blaine! I didn't get a chance ask his last name yet. Anyway, he's Wes' friend and he's... Uh." Rachel stops suddenly, bowing her head and wringing her hands. "Promise me you won't get mad?"

Kurt feels a cold weight drop into his stomach. "Rachel, what did you do?"

"Well, it's about those letters you've been getting..."

"Rachel. Who is Blaine and what is he doing here? Just spit it out."

Rachel stops wringing her hands and stands straight, getting her determination back. "Fine. I'm just going to say it because I don't regret what I've done and never will, not one bit. You're my best friend and I want you to be safe, so... Blaine is your new bodyguard."

The whole apartment falls silent. Kurt stares at Rachel for a while and then promptly bursts out laughing. His whole body bends in half with laughter, but Rachel keeps staring at him, her defiant expression not faltering.

When Kurt finally notices the look in her eyes his laughter dies out. "Rachel. Are you serious? Please tell me you're just joking? Tell me you didn't actually get me a bodyguard?"

"Well, technically Wes did..."

"Rachel Berry. Did. You. Get. Me. A. Bodyguard?" Kurt can hear his voice getting louder with each word and the conversation isn't exactly private anymore, but he's also getting more and more frustrated. He needs Rachel to say no, he needs her to say that of course she didn't get him a bodyguard, she was just joking and Blaine's just some random (admittedly gorgeous) stranger who's in town to see Wes or Rachel or _anyone_ and that's all and –

"I did," Rachel simply says.

"You're insane." Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but Kurt raises his hand to stop her. "No, this time you really are. I get four anonymous letters and you get me a _bodyguard_? If this is some sort of a twisted jealousy plot because you haven't gotten any fan letters yet I swear –"

"Kurt!" Rachel yelps, sounding scandalized. "For the record, I have actually gotten fan letters – but even if I hadn't, I would never do something like that! Or maybe I would have, in the past, but not now. Not anymore, I swear! I'm just worried about you, Kurt. There was something off in those letters, and you have awfully many events coming up, and while I almost always have a date for that kind of things, you're always so alone and vulnerable and I can't always be your date and..."

"So you got me a bodyguard so that I could _hook up_ with him? So that I could force him to be my date?" Kurt hears a muffled gasp from the living room and decides to ignore it.

"No!" Rachel tries to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder but Kurt flinches away. "I – I didn't mean it like that! I just meant that you don't have anyone to protect you from over-excited fans at different events. You don't have to be his friend or even like him, but you have to admit that it would be nice to have someone beside you when the crowd gets too rough, someone to guide you away and make sure everyone behaves well." She suddenly sounds desperate. "Kurt, please don’t hate me."

"Unfortunately for me I could never hate you, but I am seriously pissed off at you right now. I'm not _vulnerable_ , Rachel," Kurt spits out. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, trying to stay calm and keep his voice lower. He certainly doesn't want his bodyguard (ugh, he hates that word already) to hear everything. "Did Wes agree to this?"

Rachel wavers. "He did, after some... cajoling."

"Did you threaten to find another agent once again?"

"I might've said something like that." Rachel at least has the decency to look sheepish for a moment. "But he did agree and he said that it's better to be safe than sorry, and right before you came home he was telling me that even though Blaine isn't a professional, he has some experience from bodyguard work and he can keep you safe but he also won't attract too much attention. So maybe you can just pretend that he's your... assistant?"

Kurt scoffs at Rachel's hopeful tone. "Yeah, my assistant who will beat up anyone who tries to come too close."

Rachel bites her lip. "He said he didn't... I asked him if he had anger issues and he said he didn't."

Kurt may not like this idea, but he feels a bang of regret when he imagines the interrogation Rachel must have put Blaine through. Rachel means well, but she can be a bit too much, especially to a stranger. He thinks about Blaine's kind eyes and shy smile and can't really see him beating up anyone without a really good reason.

"Kurt? What are you thinking?"

Rachel's voice still sounds hopeful, and Kurt sighs. "I don't know what to think. I've already had an awful day, and now I come home to find out that I suddenly have a bodyguard who's supposed to follow me everywhere for... I don't even know for how long!" He knows his voice is getting strained again, frustrated and tired, and he doesn't care, not right now.

"Kurt..." Rachel takes a step towards him but is interrupted by a soft cough from the doorway.

It's Blaine, clutching a satchel that Kurt hadn't noticed before and looking both of them with calm eyes, as if he's heard the entire conversation – he probably did, Kurt muses – but doesn't mind it.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to say that... Um." Blaine pauses, tilting his head before starting again. "Look, I'm not really a professional bodyguard. I certainly don't look like the part, and I don't like hurting people. So I won't be, quote unquote, beating anyone up."

Kurt cringes at the words, even though Blaine is grinning when he says them. He had sort of hoped that Blaine hadn't heard that particular part of the conversation.

"And because I'm not a professional," Blaine continues, "and because Wes showed me the notes, I don't think I have to follow you around everywhere. At least not unless you think it's necessary. I can help you in events and such but... If you think that you don't need me, I can just leave and that's it. No hard feelings."

Blaine gives Kurt a calming, almost professional smile, but with that one simple expression Kurt suddenly feels all the fight leave him, making him feel calm and... protected. Safe. He stops, blinking his eyes as he stares at Blaine. Only his dad and one of his former boyfriends have been able to do that, and Kurt almost shivers at the thought that this man, this complete stranger managed to do that just a few moments after meeting him for the first time. It should be scary, coming so undone with just one smile, but Kurt finds he doesn't actually mind it. There's something about Blaine that makes him feel like everything will be alright, like he can say what he wants and no one will judge him for it.

Kurt runs his fingers through his still damp hair, trying to concentrate. "I just... This is a lot to process, especially after the day I've had. I don't think I need a bodyguard, but Rachel seems pretty insistent and if she's even managed to convince Wes... I don't know."

Blaine nods, his eyes understanding. "I get it. Look, I've never been to New York, so how about I spend a few days here, being a complete tourist and giving you some time to think, and then you can tell me what you want to do, whether you think you need me or not. Does that sound better?"

He seems so kind and considerate that Kurt has a hard time imagining him as a stereotypical bodyguard for anyone, but he nods anyway. "Yes. That sounds a lot better than having to deal with this today."

"Okay." Blaine looks over his shoulder to where Kurt can see Wes pacing and talking to his phone. "We'll leave you to it then. I'm sure you can contact me through Wes when you reach your decision, Mr. Hummel."

He gives an awkward wave and disappears down the hall. Wes follows him, continuing his phone call and giving Kurt and Rachel a nod of acknowledgement, and soon they hear the door open and close.

Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Did he just call me Mr. Hummel?"

Rachel shrugs. "How are you feeling?" she asks and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

"Tired. And I should really be working on those sketches right now, instead of thinking about this whole mess." Kurt drops his hand, only now realizing that he's still wearing his drenched coat. "Just tell me one thing. How did Wes even find him so quickly?" he asks, shrugging off his coat and wincing when he sees the state of his shoes.

"Oh, apparently he's Wes' best friend and best-man." Rachel takes the coat from him and goes to hang it before Kurt can stop her.

"Huh." Kurt blinks. "That's... convenient, I suppose."

Rachel comes back when he's inspecting his shoes more closely. "Are you mad at me?" she asks carefully.

Kurt sighs. "I don't know. I just want to finish those sketches, get a good night's sleep and think about this whole bodyguard situation tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay." Rachel nods and stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I won't say I'm sorry because I'm not, but I'm going to leave you to your sketches now. Call me if you need anything?"

Kurt nods and stands still in the kitchen until he hears Rachel's footsteps disappear down the hallway and out the door, until the door slams closed behind her and the apartment falls silent. He thinks about his sketches and the fabrics still in the bag on his kitchen counter, trying to ignore the thoughts of Blaine's kind smile and guarded eyes but failing miserably.

 

\---

 

The next day he calls his dad, blurting out "Rachel got me a bodyguard" and then spending the next thirty minutes trying to calm Burt down and convince him that no, he's not in any danger, he has just gotten a few anonymous letters and that's all.

"So why did Rachel get you a bodyguard then?" Burt asks once he's somewhat calmer and not threatening to come to New York immediately.

"I guess she just got really worried? I don't know, I didn't really think anything of those notes, but she seems to have taken them as a sign of a crazy stalker who's just waiting for his opportunity to whack me off." Kurt laughs.

"Not funny, Kurt."

Kurt grimaces. Okay, no awkward jokes then. "Sorry, Dad. But I honestly don't know. She said something about having someone with me during different events and such, someone to 'make sure everyone behaves' was the word choice she used, so..."

Burt grunts in agreement. "Well, what do you think?"

Kurt flops down on his sofa, staring at the white ceiling of his apartment, absent-mindedly wishing it had cracks so he could imagine different patterns and forms on it, like he did when he was little and still lived with his Dad. "The answer to that would be I don't know as well. Getting a bodyguard hadn't even crossed my mind, but Rachel is hell-bent on it, and even Wes seems to agree, so..."

Burt chuckles. "I don't want to know what Rachel or Wes think, Kurt, I want to know what you think."

"Oh." Kurt stays silent for a while, thinking. "I guess it could be nice to have someone making sure that I'm safe. But at the same time the idea of having someone constantly there, hovering right behind my shoulder and telling me where to go... It just makes my blood boil. It's not what I came here for. But it's made even more difficult by the fact that Blaine definitely doesn't match the image I have in my head of a bodyguard and –"

"Wait, who's Blaine?" Burt interrupts.

"Oh, right, sorry. He's the... the bodyguard." Saying that Blaine is a bodyguard still makes Kurt cringe. Somehow he just can't connect the boy – man, really – standing in the kitchen doorway and smiling kindly at him with the word bodyguard. "He's Wes' friend, and I met him yesterday, right before Rachel told me everything."

"What's he like then?"

"I didn't really talk to him that much, but he seemed... nice? He was the one who suggested that I should think it through and then let him know what I decide. I guess it's a relief that he doesn't look like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Kevin Costner, and he's not a professional bodyguard, which means that the protecting wouldn't be so strict and conventional either." Kurt snorts. "Rachel actually said that I could pretend he's my assistant."

"Well, if you want my opinion..." Burt starts, and Kurt straightens his back.

"I do, Dad, that's why I called you – I feel like this whole thing is just a mess and I have no idea what to do."

"I'm sure that's not true, Kurt. You always figure things out." Kurt can hear the fond smile in his dad's voice, until Burt clears his voice. "I mean, personally I don't see any harm in getting a bodyguard or an assistant or whatever you want to call him. Especially if you could discuss the terms of the arrangement with this Blaine guy and make sure that you feel comfortable with them." Burt's voice grows tender. "I just want to you be safe, Kurt. But you're an adult, so I won't tell you what to do with your life. You're gonna have to make up your mind by yourself. Think it through – do you really think you need a bodyguard and if you do, is this Blaine the right one for the job. I can't really tell you anything else."

Kurt feels the pressure of tears behind his eyes, and god, this is ridiculous. He's a grown man, for goodness' sake. "It's alright, Dad. I just needed someone to talk to, someone other than Rachel." He can hear someone yelling in the background, and Burt sighs resignedly. "Look Dad, I'll let you get back to work. I'll let you know what happens, okay?"

"You do that. I love you, Kurt."

"Love you too, Dad." Kurt hangs up and smiles to himself for a moment. Fine, he might be twenty-four, a grown man with his own apartment and a job and a mountain of work to do – but somehow he's still his father's little boy who feels better every time he gets to hear his dad's input.

He spends the rest of the day doing various chores around his apartment: putting the last of his office furniture in place since he hasn't been particularly active in making his new apartment a home yet, answering to e-mails and sending his finished sketches to the director so that she can approve them. Every now and then his mind drifts back to Blaine. Wes had texted him Blaine's number last night, saying that whatever Kurt chooses to do he will respect it, and Kurt entertains the idea of calling Blaine and saying yes just so he could see the curly-haired man once again, before he almost slaps himself because of how ridiculous the whole idea is. He's the first to admit that Blaine is good-looking and that his kind smile had done things to Kurt's mind and body that he would rather not think about when he's this busy already. He doesn't even know if Blaine is gay. He doesn't know anything about him.

Rachel sends him a text as well when he's having Chinese take-out for dinner, repeating that she's worried about him and that she hopes he isn't angry anymore. Kurt reads the message over and over again, trying to remember everything he can about the anonymous letters, but he still doesn't think they're actually dangerous or even threatening. He likes his independence – his last serious relationship was in college, and even though he sometimes misses the idea of having someone in his life, someone to hold and to wake up next to, he likes living on his own, doing everything on his own and attending events on his own. He doesn't need someone to hold his hand or to be his date – or to push him away from enthusiastic fans. He can do that himself.

When he wakes up the next morning he's ninety-nine percent sure that he's going to call Blaine in the afternoon and tell him to go back to wherever it is he lives. Well, not _tell_ him, but let him know that his assistance isn't needed. He almost feels a bit bad since Blaine was obviously dragged here because of him, but it isn't really his fault that Rachel gets crazy ideas.

He's going through his mail in the kitchen and thinking about how Rachel is going to react after he tells her (it will probably involve lots of yelling and slammed doors and other dramatic reactions), when a discreet envelope catches his eye in the middle of all the bills and magazines. The plain white envelope just has his name and address on it, a stamp in the upper corner without any mention of who sent it. Curious, he opens the letter.

He has barely read the first few lines – _Dear Mr. Kurt Hummel, I am writing again to tell you that after seeing your costumes in the new production of Cabaret last August..._ – when he realizes that it's him (or her, for that matter). His anonymous fan sending him a note once again. The fifth note, eerily similar to the previous ones.

Except this time the letter arrived to his home address. His relatively new and extremely private home address.

All the other letters had come to Wes' office, as does everything else that concerns Kurt's career before Wes forwards them to his home address. It's a deal they made when Wes became his agent, to keep Kurt's private life somewhat separate from his career. It's not a secret that Wes is his agent, and the address of his office is fairly easy to find. Kurt's home address on the other hand... He doesn't throw his address around. He likes to keep his private life private, even if he's not that famous, and only people close to him know his real address or are even aware that he's recently moved.

Yet here it is, an anonymous letter sitting among his other mail, sent straight to his home address. To an address an anonymous fan shouldn't be able to know.

Kurt feels a sense of dread fall in his stomach, a cold shiver running up his spine, and he can almost hear Rachel saying how she thought there was something off in those letters. It feels like his privacy has been violated, like he isn't suddenly alone in his own home anymore; it feels awful and scary and confusing, and it reminds him too much of the last time someone broke into his personal space, of smelly locker rooms and unwanted affections.

Kurt's going to be sick.

He drops the letter on the table like it burns, swallowing against the bile in his throat, and oh god, if they know his home address, what else do they know? Is the anonymous fan actually a stalker? Has Kurt been stupid and naïve and too trusting? He skims through the rest of the letter, not touching the white piece of paper again, but the words sound as innocent as ever, even more so if possible, like they're mocking him and trying to persuade him that everything is fine and well and dandy, as if the room doesn't suddenly seem darker and as if Kurt doesn't have the sudden urge to bolt his windows and hide under his kitchen table. As if he doesn't feel safe in his own home, the one place that should always be his comfort zone.

This is not okay.

 

\---

 

Blaine is having breakfast with Wes and Sarah in their bright kitchen, laughing at some story Sarah told them, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's an unknown number, so he smiles apologetically to his hosts and takes the phone with him to the guest room. Phone calls from an unknown number have always made him nervous – almost every time it's just a telemarketer or one of Cooper's friends asking him to help them out at some event, but he can't shake the feeling that unknown numbers mean something bad has happened.

So he furrows his brows and answers hesitantly, "Blaine."

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then he hears Kurt's trembling voice. "I've made up my mind."

Kurt's voice sounds scratchy and nervous, and Blaine feels his fears intensify tenfold, his hand gripping the phone tightly. Luckily some sane part of his brain snaps at him to stay calm and professional because him freaking out won't help at all. "Mr. Hummel," he says, like calming a scared animal. "What's wrong?"

"I... I think I do need a bodyguard."


	4. Chapter 4

They're all gathered in Kurt's living room, in the middle of the dark furniture and framed Broadway posters and photographs. Rachel is sitting next to Kurt on the sofa, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly while Kurt massages his temples and stares at his feet. Wes is talking with someone on the phone, trying to find out how an anonymous fan can know Kurt's address – whereas Blaine is just standing still, reading the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of everything and feeling like he's failing in his efforts.

Everything is suddenly more serious, more threatening, more _real_ , and Blaine isn't sure if he’s ready for something like this yet. He had seen New York and protecting Kurt Hummel as easy and simple distractions, similar to the events he's been to with Cooper, had seen the anonymous fan as an innocent and shy person who just appreciates Kurt's talent. But this? This isn't innocent and easy and simple anymore; this is someone, some complete stranger finding out Kurt's address and sending him a letter just to show off.

Blaine can see Kurt's eyes darting to the door, and he feels his heart constrict painfully in his chest. He's not ready for something like this, something this serious. He's not ready to protect Kurt from someone who has invaded his privacy and his home. Blaine is used to fans who know their distance and only go crazy during events, screaming next to the red carpet and reaching over the security rope. He is used to grabbing hands and wild eyes. He isn't used to someone taking their time, staying anonymous and slowly starting to unravel a person's privacy with seemingly kind messages.

Wes hangs up and drags his fingers through his short hair. "I called the office, and they have no idea how anyone could have gotten your address. They haven't given it to anyone, so it must've been someone you know, perhaps accidentally mentioning your address in a conversation or something."

Kurt doesn't lift his head. "I can't believe this is happening. I came here to escape things like this," he mumbles.

Rachel wraps her arm around him, and Blaine wants to do the same, wants to say or do anything comforting. The Kurt currently sitting on the sofa is such a stark difference to the Kurt he met a few days ago, the man who was obviously tired after a long day but who still put up a fight, who yelled at his friend and spoke his mind, and Blaine wants to help. He always wants to help people, but this time all he can do is to stay still, staring at Kurt's fingertips moving across his temples in small circles.

Wes takes the letter from Blaine and reads it through once again. "Well, if we have to find a bright side from this whole mess, at least the note itself isn't more threatening than the previous ones. But I still think we should tell the police."

Kurt finally lifts his head, clasping his hands in his lap. "Yeah. That might be a good idea. They might not take it seriously since the letters aren't that threatening, but at least they know about them in case something... more serious happens."

Rachel makes a miserable, choked sound and Blaine swallows loudly, everyone trying to erase the worst case scenarios from their heads, trying to remind themselves that nothing violent has happened, that there are no real signs of danger. Not yet, at least.

"How are you doing?" Wes asks after a moment, his smile gentle in a way that reminds Blaine of his first day at Dalton, of bruises still healing under his uniform and Wes sitting next to him in the cafeteria, asking him who he was and if he liked singing.

Kurt takes a deep breath and straightens his back. "As well as possible, I guess. Mostly I'm just annoyed,” he mutters, and Blaine is surprised to notice that his voice doesn't sound tired or dull anymore, that there's a hint of the defiance from a few days ago seeping back into his voice.

Rachel hasn't said a lot since they arrived but now she lifts her eyebrow curiously. "Annoyed?"

"Annoyed that I have to deal with something like this on top of everything. Annoyed that someone out there knows where I live, that someone out there probably thinks it's fun to send me anonymous letters and watch me dance. Well, screw them. I'm not going to change my whole life because of some stupid nameless fan. Fuck him. Or her."

Blaine can see Wes trying to hide a smile, and Rachel smirks against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt, on the other hand, turns his gaze to Blaine and looks at him with so much determination that Blaine wants to turn away and hide.

"So if your offer still stands," Kurt continues, "I'd like you to be my, ugh, my bodyguard, even though I still really hate that word." He shudders. "Anyway – I know this is kind of sudden, but since the anonymous fan knows my address I thought that... Maybe with you keeping me safe I could continue living the way I want to?"

Blaine swallows again when he sees Kurt's hopeful smile, and he has to conjure up every ounce of Dalton-Blaine still hiding inside him. "Perhaps you should hire a professional bodyguard instead? Since the situation has changed, you might feel safer with someone who actually..." _knows what he's doing_ , Blaine wants to admit, but instead he says, "... who actually has more experience and who's been doing this professionally for a longer period of time."

Kurt stares at him. "So... You don't want to be my bodyguard?"

"No, it's not that, I just – I think you'd be better off with someone who has protected other people besides his own brother and who is perhaps more willing to beat people up." Blaine shrugs awkwardly.

"But I don’t want my bodyguard to beat people up." Kurt keeps looking at him, as if he's searching his face for something. "And like I said, I want my life to continue as normally as possible and I don't want to give that idiotic anonymous fan the pleasure of seeing me coming to events with a bulky bodyguard who looks like he'll crush anyone who comes close to me. I have a feeling you wouldn't crush anyone," he jokes.

Blaine feels his heart constrict again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

"I talked about it earlier with Wes, and I think you're professional enough for me. Alright?" Kurt finishes, not once averting his eyes.

Blaine glances to Wes, wondering when they had gotten a chance to talk about him and what Wes had exactly told to Kurt. Wes gives him a reassuring smile, like he's wordlessly saying that he didn't tell anything too personal. Blaine knows he can trust him. He always does, and the few times he went against his instincts and didn't trust Wes didn't end up that well.

He looks back to Kurt and Rachel who are both staring at him, waiting for his answer. Distraction. Distance. Those were the reasons Blaine had come to New York, but the distraction is proving out to be a bit larger than he expected. He can feel himself falling for Kurt already, for his brave smile and quick words, but Blaine can't allow it, can't let himself feel too much for someone. There's a part of him that wants to turn and run away, fly back to LA and forget everything about Kurt Hummel – but there's a stronger feeling growing inside of him, stronger than his silly romantic feelings, stronger than his fears of failure.

The urge to protect, to help people, to keep them safe.

Blaine has always believed in the best in people, even after Sadie Hawkins, even after his failed relationships in college and even after his ultimate failure, but he's not stupid; he knows that people can be cruel and violent as well, and he likes to keep the best people away from the cruel and violent people. He takes a deep breath, lets the feelings of protecting and helping drown the romantic feelings, lets the memory of how he felt when he first saw Kurt sink somewhere deep and dark inside his mind, lets Kurt become Mr. Hummel again.

"You're absolutely sure that you want me to be your bodyguard?" he asks.

Kurt stares at his face, seeing something that makes him frown, but after a few seconds he nods anyway.

Blaine chances another quick glance to Wes, who is following the conversation quietly. Wes catches Blaine's gaze and gives him a small sincere nod.

Blaine exhales. "Okay. Alright. I'll be your... Your bodyguard." He furrows his eyebrows on the last word, unable to come up with a better synonym.

Like a few months ago in Cooper's living room, there are no excited screams or jumps, no fist bumps or high fives – not that Blaine even expected any. Rachel releases the breath she'd apparently been holding, and both Kurt and Wes smile at Blaine.

Blaine's answer also seems to bring Rachel back from her quiet apathy. She suddenly claps her hands together, and her eyes gleam with excitement, even if it seems a bit forced. "Now that that's settled, there are so many other things we need to settle as well, right, Kurt? The terms or conditions or arrangements; after all, it's not a simple matter to have a bodyguard, and while I don't really have much experience from it, not personally, I have watched enough movies to know that there have to be certain rules in this kind of relationship..."

Kurt laughs softly, and Blaine feels relieved that Kurt's already smiling and seeming more like the Kurt he first met. His feelings are still trying to rise to the surface, trying to break free from their cage, but Blaine keeps thinking about Dalton-Blaine, the teenager who tried to help everyone even though he didn't really know anything and was just as confused and scared as everyone else, possibly even more so – he just was better at hiding it. If he's going to be Kurt's bodyguard, he needs to become Dalton-Blaine, the person who didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. He needs to focus.

Wes' phone beeps, making everyone startle. He glances at his phone and then sighs. "I have to get back to the office. I'm sure you can work out the arrangement without me here, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Kurt says, nodding understandingly.

"Alright. I'll see you later, Blaine." Wes reaches out to pat Blaine's shoulder.

"Oh, do you two have plans for the evening?" Rachel perks up. "Because I have a show tonight and I just wanted you to know that there are still a few seats left and..."

"Er, no?" Wes looks confused. "I just assumed that Blaine would be staying at my place or..." His voice trails off when he sees the contemplative look on Kurt's face.

"Could he... I know this sounds really weird, but could you perhaps stay here?" Kurt looks to Blaine who can only blink back at him. "I mean, I have a guest room, and since you're now my bodyguard and this anonymous fan knows my address I would probably feel safer if you were here all the time, but if it makes you uncomfortable in any way, you can of course stay at Wes' place – I know it's probably a weird suggestion but I just thought that it would make everything a lot easier and we could get to know each other since I do sort of need to trust you for this thing to work and..."

"Sure," Blaine interrupts Kurt's babbling. Inside he's half excited and half terrified – or maybe one third excited and two thirds terrified – but logically he knows that what Kurt is saying is a good idea. If he's supposed to actually protect Kurt, he's supposed to protect him twenty-four-seven, not just during business hours. There are no business hours or commute if he's a bodyguard. He remembers the way Kurt's eyes had darted to the door only a few minutes earlier and knows that he needs to stay here.

He should probably say that out loud as well, since Kurt is still staring at him, his fingers moving over his knuckles in a nervous way.

Blaine lets his mouth turn into a calming smile. At least he can behave like a professional. "Of course I will stay here if it makes you feel safer."

"It does, Blaine, it really does. Thank you." Kurt's shoulders relax, and Blaine has to resist the sudden urge to slap himself. The way Kurt says his name somehow manages to sound different from all the ways other people say it, softer and more tender, and damn it, he really shouldn't be thinking about things like that right now.

"Alright then. I'll swing by the police station on my way and let them know about these letters." Wes waves the note in his hand and Kurt almost glares at it. "I'll call you if they need to talk to you as well or anything."

Kurt nods and gives Wes a thankful smile. "Thanks, Wes. You're truly the best agent I could ask for."

Rachel coughs. "After I almost _forced_ him..."

"Yes, thank you for your input, Rachel." Wes rolls his eyes and then looks to Blaine. "I can send your stuff here when I get home tonight, if that's okay? Sarah will probably want to send you all cookies or something anyway."

"Sure, that sounds fine."

Wes leaves with a nod and a wave, and when the door closes behind him Blaine feels as if he should take charge. Kurt and Rachel are both looking at him with expecting eyes, and Blaine frantically tries to remember what he had asked from Cooper's friends when he'd been their bodyguard. This is a completely different situation – he's protecting a gorgeous costume designer from a possibly crazy fan for who knows how long, no big deal – and usual arrangements can only get him so far. But at least so far is somewhere.

 

\---

 

Blaine still looks kind – Kurt wonders if it's his default expression, if Blaine is just one of those people who always look like they are ready to help or lend an ear – but when Blaine had asked if Kurt really wanted him to be his bodyguard something had clouded his face, like a shadow falling over his features. Perhaps it's the same curtain Kurt had seen in Blaine's eyes a few days earlier, but now it's suddenly over his whole face, dimming his soft features and making him seem more detached, more distant.

It's a shame, it really is; a part of why Kurt found himself wanting Blaine to be his bodyguard was because he could see the emotions so clearly on Blaine's face. He could immediately, after just a few minutes in the same room with him, see when he was feeling uncomfortable or when he was thinking about something too hard. Kurt could feel like he could trust Blaine. He almost wishes he could smooth the current worry lines away from Blaine's forehead with his thumb, and _wow_ , where did that completely inappropriate thought come from? Blaine's still his bodyguard, not a guy he can have an awkward crush for. Get a grip, Hummel.

Blaine clears his throat. "So, Mr. Hummel, could you tell me –"

"Oh god!" Kurt squeaks, his eyes widening as he jumps up from the sofa. "I just realized that I don't know your last name! This is so awkward. I just hired you to be my bodyguard and I don't even know your full name." He holds out his hand. "Why don’t we try this again? Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel, 24 years old and a costume designer. Enchanté."

Blaine stares at his hand for a moment and then takes it, smiling a little. His handshake is warm and firm, but not too warm or too firm – it's fitting, in a way. "Hi. Blaine Anderson, also 24 years old and a part-time bodyguard," he jokes. "It’s nice to meet you."

Rachel is looking at them both with a curious expression, and Kurt lets go of Blaine's hand, even though a part of him wants to keep holding on. Blaine's touch seems to have the same calming effect as his smile.

Kurt shakes his head to clear his mind. "Sorry, you were saying something before I interrupted."

Blaine blinks, the curtain falling back to its place. "Oh, right. As I was saying, Mr. Hummel..." he starts, but then Kurt shakes his head again, stopping Blaine with a raised hand before he gets any further.

When Kurt was waiting for everyone to get to his apartment, he reached a conclusion: if Blaine was going to be his bodyguard, Kurt would do his very best to keep living the same way he always had. Kurt Hummel is nothing if determined, and he's not going to let a few anonymous letters scare him into hiding. He's going to work as usual, go to events as usual, occasionally go out and have fun with his friends as usual – but with a bodyguard. It's not exactly ideal, it's not exactly what Kurt dreamed his life would be like after he got his big break, but he's going to make it work. He's going to feel safe again. Blaine doesn't look like a traditional bodyguard, which is a huge advantage for his plan.

And his plan involves them being on a first name basis.

"Look, _Blaine_ ," he says pointedly, "this whole thing is already weird enough – I don't think I've ever heard of a costume designer who needed a bodyguard before. So I honestly think it would be best if we pretended that you're my assistant instead of my bodyguard. At least in public. You can follow me around, live here with me and protect me from angry mobs, but if anyone asks, I'll just introduce you as my assistant." Kurt looks to Rachel before turning his attention back to Blaine, to give her some credit for the original idea. "And that means you'll call me by my first name and I'll call you Blaine."

Blaine's expression doesn’t change, but he blinks his eyes again, the curtain staying in place, hiding whatever thoughts are going through his head. It's starting to annoy Kurt.

"Blaine?" he ventures, testing the name in his mouth.

"I prefer Mr. Hummel." Blaine doesn't say it like he's trying to pick up a fight, doesn't say it to get on anyone's nerves – he just states it as a fact, and Kurt thinks it's a bit ridiculous. They've already established that they are the same age, and it seems almost like Blaine is purposefully distancing himself for whatever reason. Maybe that's how he's done things during his previous bodyguard jobs, but Kurt knows it won't work with him.

So he sighs exasperatedly and crosses his arms over his chest. "And I prefer Kurt. Seriously Blaine, it sounds like you're talking to my dad if you call me Mr. Hummel. Or do you want me to call you Mr. Anderson? That sounds a bit too much like _The Matrix_ to me."

"You can call me whatever you want. I'll use Mr. Hummel," Blaine responds, with a note of finality in his voice. His phone beeps suddenly, and while he's digging it out of his pocket and reading the message, Kurt shoots Rachel a confused look, one that he hopes conveys what he doesn't want to say out loud.

_What the hell, is he actually serious? I thought this was going well!_

Rachel shrugs, as if she's saying, _don't look at me, he's not my bodyguard_ , and Kurt hates her a little for that because this whole thing was Rachel's idea, and now he's the one who has to deal with a bodyguard that seemed completely nice a few moments ago but is suddenly acting strange and distant.

Blaine coughs to get Kurt's attention and seems to ignore their silent conversation. "So, Mr. Hummel, as I was saying, I think I need your schedule. And a... key to your apartment? If that's okay?"

Kurt ends up having to ask his spare key back from Rachel to give it to Blaine. Rachel, naturally, looks indignant but complies after Kurt gives her a stern look. Kurt doesn't have a fixed schedule, so he just lets Blaine browse through his calendar for a moment, as weird as it seems (thank goodness he keeps his random thoughts and feelings away from his calendar, because this could get really awkward really fast), and suggests that they talk about specific plans for every day each morning.

Blaine simply nods.

Kurt shows Blaine around the apartment, shows him the guest room where he'll be staying. It's not much, just a double-sized bed, a closet, a chair and a small bedside table. The big window doesn't exactly have a nice view, since the only thing it shows is the wall of the building opposite it, but at least the window makes up for the view in its size. Kurt says that Blaine can decorate the room in any way he wants to, make himself comfortable, and they can go out today or tomorrow to buy some better beddings. Kurt hasn't had any overnight guests yet, not after moving in.

Blaine simply nods. Again.

Kurt shows him the guest room bathroom, the kitchen, his own bedroom and the room that's still somewhat unfinished, the one he calls his office because it makes him feel old and professional. Rachel follows them, her hands behind her back and her eyes flitting between them, like she sees something that Kurt doesn't.

"Well, I guess that's all for now." They are standing in Kurt's kitchen, and Kurt swears that if Blaine nods one more time, he can't be held responsible for his reaction. Blaine's been subdued and overly professional ever since Wes left, and Kurt isn't sure how much longer he can take it. He wants back the Blaine who stood in his kitchen doorway and smiled kindly. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want Bodyguard-Blaine, as he calls him in his mind; he wants just Blaine.

Blaine doesn't nod, thankfully. Instead he says, "I need to call my brother to let him know that I'm staying. Will you be okay if..."

Kurt waves his hand, although his interest is piqued. (A brother?) "Yes, I'm sure Rachel can keep me safe while you make one phone call."

Rachel makes a mock salute. "I swear by my incredible talent."

Blaine smiles, a flash of just Blaine showing through, and retreats to the living room.

Kurt sighs and runs a hand through his hair the moment he thinks Blaine can't hear him anymore. "What the hell happened? He was so nice and _alive_ and now he just..." Not finding suitable words he only gestures towards the living room.

Rachel bites her lip. "I think... I think he likes you."

"Please, Rachel, like that's even a remotely possible explanation," Kurt snorts. "He's probably not even gay."

"But he is!" Rachel insists. "When he first came here he told me that he boxes and has taken a few self-defense courses, and when I asked him if he had any anger issues, he just said that he's gay and took up boxing because he was bullied so much."

"... Oh." Kurt stops for a moment, biting his lip, and then shakes his head to clear his mind. "Well, I still think he could stop being so... guarded. I liked him more when he was talking and smiling in my kitchen doorway."

"Kurt, he's your bodyguard," Rachel reminds him. "You can hardly expect him to be jumping on furniture and singing about his feelings like we're in glee club."

Kurt sighs dramatically. "I guess so."

He can hear Blaine's muffled voice coming from the living room, not well enough to make out what he's saying, but he can swear he hears him smiling. Then Blaine laughs, quick and carefree and soft, and oh, how much Kurt wishes he could hear Bodyguard-Blaine laugh like that in front of him.

Rachel sees the look on his face and pats his arm. "Just give yourself some time. Give him some time. This situation is new to both of you."

 

\---

 

The phone rings several times before Cooper answers, and when he does he sounds out of breath, like he has run to the phone.

"Blainey! Finally!"

Blaine smiles, feeling more like himself immediately after hearing his brother's voice. "Hey Coop. How's LA?"

"Who cares about LA, tell me about New York! How's the job? Is the guy cute and your type?"

Blaine splutters. "C-Coop!" He lowers his voice. "He's my client – I'm supposed to protect him, not develop feelings for him!"

"Can't you do both? Do him?" Cooper shoots back, and Blaine swears he can almost hear him winking.

"Stop it!" Blaine tries not to sound so scandalized, but he can't help it, not with the ways his cheeks are probably burning already. "I don't even know if he's gay, and even if he was, there's no way I'm going to fall for him."

"B, he's a costume designer on Broadway. Of course he's gay."

"Jesus, Cooper, talk about stereotypes," Blaine hisses, looking over his shoulder even though Kurt couldn't have possibly heard what Cooper just said.

"No, you're right, I'm just joking. But I take it you're staying there?" Cooper says, and suddenly he sounds serious, doing his famous one eighty once again.

"Yeah." Blaine sighs, running his fingers through his curls. He doesn't wear gel everyday anymore, only on special occasions and when he wants to look more presentable. His first boyfriend had liked his short curls, and he sort of likes them too these days. They're good for nervous gestures. "I don't know for how long yet, but the... The anonymous fan is just a bit more than I thought, and so is this whole job."

"Is everything alright?" Cooper asks, his voice concerned, and god, Blaine misses his brother already. He hadn't even realized it before this phone call, but he's grown used to Cooper, to his apartment and his way of living in the months he lived with him.

"Yeah, I think everything's fine. I just don't know if I'm qualified enough for a job like this."

"Bullshit, Blainey. You have a good head and strong fists, of course you're qualified. Did you know that Mark was heartbroken when I told him that you were in New York and couldn't be his bodyguard to some gala next week? Heart. Broken. He says that you owe him a new suit if a crazy old lady grabs his sleeve."

Blaine laughs. "Thanks, Coop. But that's the thing. With this job I might not be just steering a person away from over-excited fans, I might actually... Cooper." His voice breaks a little, and he doesn't even know why, and he feels so confused and has no idea what he's doing. He sits down on the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck. "That anonymous fan sent a letter to Mr. Hummel's – to Kurt's – home address. To an address strangers aren't supposed to know."

Cooper is silent for a while. "That's... Ouch. Was the letter threatening or something?"

"No, not really, but just imagine it: someone goes through all that trouble to find out a costume designer's home address to send him an anonymous letter and just... Isn't that stalkerish? Scary? What if there's an actual crazy stalker out there and I'm the only thing protecting Kurt Hummel? He said he wanted me to be his bodyguard, but what if I'm not enough, Coop, what if I fa–"

"Hey hey hey," Cooper interrupts him. "Blaine, Blaine, calm down, okay? Everything's going to be fine."

Blaine laughs again, the sound bitter and quick this time. "You don’t know that."

"Yes, I do, you idiot." Cooper's voice is serious, severe even. "I know it because you're my little brother and you always make things better. I know you believe in that everything gets better stuff, but sometimes you need to make things better yourself. Remember that time I was going to audition for that Michael Bay movie and they cancelled my audition? You convinced me to make that audition tape anyway, and even though I didn't get the part I auditioned for, I did get the chance to play Guard Number 3, and it was the best role I have ever played."

Blaine gives a laugh, remembering how Cooper had called him, screaming like a mad man about shaking Michael Bay's hand. "What's that got to do with..."

"That's just one example of the numerous times you've made things better, either for someone else or for yourself. So just... Stop freaking out and blaming yourself for everything, take it one day at a time and let yourself help people. I know you like it, I know you're good at it, so – calm down and tell me if this Kurt Hummel is hot."

Cooper clicks this tongue suggestively, and Blaine laughs again, feeling like he hasn't laughed enough for days, even though it was just this morning that he was sitting in Wes and Sarah's kitchen without a care in the world. Apparently a lot can happen in a few hours.

"Well? Is he?" Cooper presses on.

"I think I'm going to hang up now," Blaine answers.

"Aw, come on, B, it's high time you got some!"

"Bye, Cooper..."

"No, no no no, don't, I'm sorry, I'm just joking." Cooper's voice turns worried again. "But are you okay? Seriously?"

Blaine stares at the ceiling for a moment. He can hear Kurt and Rachel talking in the kitchen, can feel the soft sofa cushions pressed against his back, and though he still feels anxious, he's willing to give this job a try. He just needs to detach himself, remember that this is just work, and stop... feeling too much. If he does that, everything will be fine.

"Yeah. I think I am," he answers truthfully. "Thanks. I miss you already, Coop."

"Stop it, you softie. We used to go for months without talking to each other. I'm sure we'll manage now."

"Yeah, but that was when I hated you."

"You could never hate me and you know it."

Blaine smiles. "True."


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine wakes up in a strange bed the next morning, blinking his eyes against the dull sunlight. The mattress is soft, softer than the one he's used to in Cooper's apartment, but it feels scratchy in a way new mattresses do. He looks at the alarm clock on the bedside table, noticing it's only half past six, and then stretches his arms, pushing himself into a sitting position. He feels tired – he doesn't sleep well in an unfamiliar setting with his too loud thoughts – but it's nothing a cup of coffee won't fix.

The previous day had been quiet. After Rachel had left, saying that she had to get ready for her show, Blaine had, without knowing what else to do, checked the windows and doors of the apartment, Kurt trailing nervously behind him. The doors and windows are all tightly locked, there's a doorman on the ground floor and the apartment doesn't even seem to have any places where an assailant could hide, so Blaine figures that Kurt will at least be safe in his own apartment. Blaine knows his inspection was most likely pointless – they are on the ninth floor, after all! – and didn't do anything to calm Kurt's nerves, but he felt he had to do it anyways. He can almost hear Wes saying _better safe than sorry_ in his head, and at least the inspection made it look like he knows what he's doing. Even if he doesn't, not really.

He had sat in the living room for the rest of the day, writing down things he needed to buy himself now that he was staying in New York, imagining different scenarios and what he needed to prepare for, trying to make sense of things on paper. Kurt had sat in the armchair opposite him, his shoulders tense, drawing sketches and sighing continuously, both of them trying to get used to a new presence in their lives.

It had been no wonder that they'd both gone to bed early, awkwardly saying goodnight in the hallway before closing the doors behind themselves. Kurt's own bedroom is right next to the guest room, and Blaine is a light sleeper, always has been. It was almost a hindrance when he was boarding at Dalton or living with Cooper, and Blaine can't even remember the number of times he woke up to footsteps outside his door or to hushed conversations in the hallway – but maybe this time it's an advantage. If something happens to Kurt during the night, Blaine can immediately hear it, no matter how asleep he is.

Despite that Blaine had lied awake in his bed for several hours, listening to the apartment hum around him and the night life of New York City buzz outside the guest room window. Now, in the morning, the buzz is a little louder, but the hum of the apartment seems quieter, drowned under the morning light.

Blaine finally gets up from the bed with a sigh and pads quietly to the kitchen. Kurt isn't awake yet, but the door to his bedroom is ajar, and Blaine almost wants to take a peek, see what the quick-witted and collected Kurt Hummel looks like when he's sleeping – but he does realize how creepy that would be, and the last thing both of them need right now is a new dose of creepiness.

Blaine takes an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter and bites on it. The longest conversation he and Kurt had had last night had surprisingly been about the cost of living. Blaine is naturally paid for his bodyguard job (it's not a lot, but he doesn't even want to be paid that much), and they had agreed that some of Blaine's salary would go to Kurt's account since Blaine is living under Kurt's roof and eating his food. Blaine had insisted that he doesn't want to be a burden; Kurt had only given a thin smile and called Wes to let him know.

Normally Blaine would go for a long run in the morning, but he can't leave the apartment. He can't leave Kurt alone. It's still relatively dark outside – the sun is shining through thick clouds, and Blaine is looking out of the kitchen window, wondering if it'll rain today as well, when he hears a loud yawn behind him. He turns around to see Kurt shuffling into the kitchen wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, scratching his head and looking like he's half asleep.

Until he lifts his head, sees Blaine, and gives a startled yelp.

Blaine jumps a little in surprise and immediately takes a calming step towards Kurt, worried that something is wrong.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," Kurt gasps out, holding his hand against his chest, as if he's trying to calm his heart. "I completely forgot that I'm not living alone right now."

Blaine shrugs. "It's alright. It's probably going to take some getting used to." He himself had half expected to be woken up by Cooper banging his door and yelling that he should drag his curly head out of bed.

Kurt rubs his eyes. "Have you been up for a long time?"

"No, just got up. I was going to make some coffee. Do you want some?" Blaine asks, taking a step towards the coffee maker.

"I can make it!" Kurt offers immediately, and Blaine stops, raising his eyebrows. "If you... Could you maybe pick up today's mail?" Kurt bites his lip, suddenly looking unsure.

Blaine doesn't understand it at first, but then something clicks in his brain (mail means letters), and he nods, trying to look comforting. "Sure, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt makes a face when he hears the name but doesn't say anything. Blaine leaves his half-eaten apple on the counter and walks to the front door. He picks up the thick pile of mail, and when he comes back to the kitchen Kurt's expensive-looking coffee machine is already humming quietly.

"What's in the mail?" Kurt asks, his back to Blaine, and Blaine can hear the almost unnoticeable tinge of fear and uncertainty in his voice. He quickly flips through the pile of letters and papers, but there's nothing but magazines, a few bills and two letters with their senders' names. He wants to smile, to reach out a comforting hand, or just to say _I'm so sorry this is happening to you_ – but he doesn't. If he did, he would immediately feel too much and right now feeling too much is not an option.

Instead he puts the mail on the table and simply says, "Nothing worrisome."

When Kurt gives him a small smile over his shoulder, he almost mirrors it before he realizes what he's doing and stops himself. Across the kitchen Kurt’s shoulders sag, looking disappointed, and Blaine doesn't know why.

 

\---

 

They go out that day. Kurt insists that Blaine deserves new beddings for the guest room bed, and he has to pick up some things for himself and buy groceries. He doesn't even know what kind of food Blaine eats, if he's allergic to something or if he's – god forbid – a vegan, and honestly, Kurt has had enough of vegan food after being Rachel's roommate for four years.

Kurt might have been the one who said he needed a bodyguard, but he's not exactly in love with the idea of someone following him everywhere, not at all. He tries to accept the situation, though, tries to accept that what little was left of his privacy after the letter is now taken up by the round-the-clock presence of a bodyguard. All morning he'd tried to see past the curtain on Blaine's face, tried to make him smile again, but Blaine stays stubbornly professional, not letting any of his personality show through. When they step out of the building they fall into step immediately, and all Kurt can think about is how comfortable it all would be if Blaine wasn't so distant, if his eyes weren't so annoyingly alert and if he wasn't glancing around all the damn time. But then again, maybe he should be grateful: all of this just means that Blaine is taking his job seriously.

A part of Kurt still wishes Blaine wasn't so serious. It keeps reminding him of the situation, of the stupid anonymous letters and of the feeling of his privacy being violated, and Kurt would rather leave it behind, keep going and get on with his life.

They swing by the police station first, Kurt giving his statement about the letters and confirming everything Wes has already told them. It's a bit unpleasant – Kurt can't remember the last time he had to deal with the police, and while the officer taking his statement is nice enough, it's still another reminder of the situation. Blaine waits for him in the lobby, giving a few explanatory answers to the officer when they're about to leave, and then they can finally get out of the depressingly blue and grey building and Kurt can focus on more pleasant things.

Like shopping. Shopping is always pleasant.

They buy the beddings first, Blaine insisting that whatever color Kurt chooses is fine. Kurt almost wants to yell at him, tell him to say what his favorite color is, but he doesn't. That would be awkward, and he doesn't want to be rude. Blaine seems to be an unexpected enigma right now, and Kurt can't read his face anymore, but he still wants Blaine to be his bodyguard. Even when Blaine's distant and agreeing to everything, he's still better company than some sulky and bulky Kevin Costner.

In the end Kurt chooses light brown sheets. It's a neutral color and the shirt Blaine is wearing today is brown, so he must at least find that color somewhat appealing. When they are leaving the store Blaine offers to carry the bag because of course he's not just an enigma, but a gentlemanly one as well.

Figures.

When Kurt gives in and lets Blaine take the bag from him, Blaine opens his mouth, and Kurt can tell by the look on his face that he's probably going to tell a joke or perhaps say something silly. Kurt doesn't know how he can tell it, but something in Blaine's eyebrows and cheekbones looks goofy and ridiculous, and Kurt holds his breath, silently keeping his fingers crossed – until the moment passes, Blaine furrows his brows and just closes his mouth, not saying anything. It shouldn't feel as disappointing as it does.

They have lunch in a small café that Kurt adores, and Kurt keeps trying to make conversation, recommending different dishes and asking what Blaine thinks about New York, but the answers Blaine gives are so depressingly short that he gives up quite quickly. They both just focus on their foods for a long while after that. Whenever someone walks by too close to their table Kurt can see Blaine's eyes flashing, noticing everything and calculating every possible risk. It's a little disconcerting, and Kurt tries to ignore it, tries to forget that Blaine isn't an acquaintance or an assistant.

But when Blaine's eyes flash for the umpteenth time, Kurt can't ignore it anymore. He's about to roll his eyes and say something possibly biting, politeness be damned – when he suddenly sees Blaine's eyes soften, staring at something over Kurt's shoulder. The curtain over his face has slipped away, quietly and quickly, and for a moment Kurt can see just Blaine, his kind small smile and calm eyes, the ones that caught Kurt's attention a few days ago.

It's... definitely a surprise. A good one.

Heart beating too loudly in his chest Kurt follows Blaine's gaze and sees a group of school kids, some of them still in their uniforms, laughing and talking near the restrooms. One of the kids, a boy with almost yellow hair, is saying something to one of the waitresses, a woman who looks so much like the boy that she must be his mother. The other kids are obviously waiting for their friend, reading the menu together and giggling at silly foreign words.

Kurt turns back to look at Blaine, and Blaine has such a wistful expression on his face, something that seems so completely Blaine, not Bodyguard-Blaine, that Kurt feels his heart skip a beat or two, feels the corners of his own mouth tug upwards.

Blaine seems to notice that Kurt is staring, and he quickly snaps out of his daze, burying his gaze in his food and tensing his shoulders. Bodyguard-Blaine is back before Kurt even manages to open his mouth, but damn it, he's not going to give up so easily.

"So have you always been a bodyguard?" he asks with fake nonchalance.

Blaine looks up, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Did you go to some impressive school for amateur bodyguards or something like that?" Kurt continues, popping one of his French fries to his mouth.

Blaine's mouth tightens like he's trying to suppress a laugh. Kurt calls that a victory, but an even bigger victory is Blaine's soft answer.

"No, I was actually studying to become a teacher about eight or nine months ago."

Kurt raises his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "Teaching?" He thinks for a moment, imagining Blaine in a classroom full of loud kids, trying to calm them down and teaching them all about mathematics and history and... It isn't actually that hard to imagine. Not hard at all. "Huh. I can actually see you as a teacher."

Blaine gives a tight-lipped smile, curtain staying in place. "Thanks, but I didn't get my degree."

"What happened then? What made a bright-eyed future teacher change his career and become a bodyguard for an annoyingly outspoken costume designer?" Kurt asks, trying to ease the tension that has suddenly fallen over their table. He's curious, he honestly is – he wants to see the man behind the curtain again, the explanation behind the enigma, wants to rip that stupid curtain away from Blaine's face.

Blaine averts his eyes, shrugging like it's not a big deal, even though it obviously is. "Just... things happened. Life happened."

That's the last thing he says about the matter, and Kurt doesn't have the heart to continue interrogating him. He's not Rachel after all. They finish their lunch in silence, pay for their food (naturally Blaine tries to insist on paying Kurt's meal as well, and this time Kurt does roll his eyes), and continue shopping. Blaine steers Kurt away from crowds, watches out for anyone who might possess a possible threat, and Kurt lets him. It's surreal, but this is kind of what Kurt asked Blaine to do when he agreed to be his bodyguard, and it's not like Kurt could stop him anyway. At least it's better than seeing the almost painful amount of regret in Blaine's eyes when he talked about his past.

A few hours later they're picking up a new external hard-drive for Kurt – he had given his old one to Finn who had complained that his computer didn't have enough space – when Blaine suddenly stops, making Kurt almost bump into him. Blaine hasn't stopped like this before, and Kurt immediately feels something awful drop into the bottom of his stomach. Is Blaine seeing someone potentially dangerous or what? Why else would he just stop like that? What is happening? Oh god, Kurt hates feeling like this, _hates_ it, why can't he just go back to his normal life, why –

And then Blaine looks at Kurt and seems to realize what he's done.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Hummel, I didn't mean to scare you," he starts, taking another bag from Kurt. He's been very stealthily doing that all day, carrying everything like he's some sort of a, well, assistant, and Kurt rolls his eyes every time. "I wasn't – I mean there isn't..."

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt sighs, trying to calm his heartbeat. He looks ahead to see why Blaine stopped – there's nothing there, nothing except a bookstore Kurt has sometimes visited, and...

Oh.

"You know, Blaine, we can go to the shops you want to visit as well," he says, hoping that Blaine gets his meaning and doesn't think he's being condescending.

Blaine looks towards the bookstore and furrows his brows a little. "I was just thinking that I could pick up some new books."

Kurt remembers the previous night, Blaine sitting on the sofa and looking like he had nothing to do, while Kurt himself started a few new sketches. "Sure! I haven't been to a bookstore in ages, so let's go!" he exclaims, agreeing immediately, partly because Blaine's finally showing some initiative, some other emotion than distance and bodyguard-iness again. It's another victory, and Kurt's not going to ignore it.

They spend a surprisingly long time in the bookstore. Kurt can't remember the last time he read an actual book, so he buys a few paperbacks, and only one of them is about fashion. That is progress right there. Blaine, on the other hand, goes through the shelves meticulously, reading blurbs and browsing pages, his eyes following the words in fervent concentration. He only glances at the non-fiction section when Kurt picks out his fashion book. Blaine seems to be all about fiction – he runs his fingers over book covers, widens his eyes when he sees an interesting book, touches the words on the pages like they're delicate yet masterful works of art, and maybe to Blaine they are. Kurt has never been much of a reader; he can appreciate books or good stories and he reads every now and then, but he's not a bookworm, never has been. The way Blaine looks at books is passionate and excited, all of his curtains gone, and Kurt knows he made the right choice in coming to the store when Blaine flashes him a small thankful smile and ends up buying ten books.

They finally leave the store and try to find a taxi (because there's no way Kurt is going to let Blaine drag all of their bags all the way back to the apartment), and the curtain slips back over Blaine's face, his features becoming distant and professional once again, but this time Kurt doesn't mind. He has seen that the Blaine he first met is still there, lurking behind the curtain, and that's enough for today. That's enough to convince him that maybe this bodyguard thing might work after all.

When they have to walk through a crowd and there's no way to go round it, Blaine moves even closer to Kurt, their hands almost touching, and Kurt tries to ignore the tiny sparks that run up his arm every time he feels the back of Blaine's hand brushing against his own.

 

\---

 

After putting the groceries away Kurt notices Blaine sitting in an almost awkwardly polite position on the sofa, browsing through his new books. There's no way he could be comfortable sitting like that, so Kurt approaches him and coughs softly to get his attention. Blaine looks up from his book, and even his expression is the epitome of politeness.

"I know this is my apartment, but right now you're living here as well," Kurt points out. Blaine raises his eyebrows, so Kurt continues, "I'm just saying that you can, um, relax. As long as you don't get dirt on those sofa cushions, because they were rather expensive, okay?"

Blaine smiles, polite and distant. "Alright. Did you need something, Mr. Hummel, or...?"

"Oh, no, nothing. I think I'm going to go do some work, if that's okay."

"Sure. Give me a shout if you need anything."

Some usually silent part of Kurt wants to say _I already need you to be_ – but he doesn't quite know what he needs Blaine to be. Just himself? Not so overly polite if it’s not who he really is? And who is Kurt to make demands like that anyway? He nods and retreats to his office, not closing the door behind him.

He checks his e-mail first. He has a new message from Finn, written like Finn has forgotten to turn the CapsLock off, screaming about bodyguards and "HOW COOL IS THAT, IS HE LIKE ARNOLD SWARZENEGER?" Obviously Kurt's dad has mentioned something to Finn. Kurt writes a short answer, saying that he'll call his family when he has more time, and spends the next thirty minutes going through the rest of his messages. The director of his new show likes his sketches but wants to know if one of the costumes will be suitable for acrobatic dancing, and Kurt has to take a look at his sketches to make a few small changes so that the actor wearing it won't stumble in the middle of his dancing.

When his inbox is mercifully empty, he stretches his shoulders and turns to look at the door. The apartment is quiet, almost too quiet for his liking. He gets up and pads silently to the hallway. Blaine is still sitting on the sofa, but he has retrieved his own laptop at some point and is currently balancing both the laptop and one of his books on his lap, completely focused on the pages in front of him. The laptop is open, and Kurt can make out the outlines of an e-mail on the screen. The most important thing, however, is the way Blaine's sitting. He has lifted his socked feet on the sofa and has his whole body curled into the corner, leaning his cheek comfortably against the back rest.

"Do you mind if put some music on?" Kurt asks, feeling a little sorry for disturbing Blaine.

Blaine lifts his head and looks at Kurt over his shoulder. "No, of course not. Just... you're not going to turn it too loud, are you?"

"No, I just work better when I have some sort of noise in the background." Kurt had noticed it after moving to his first own apartment – he has nothing against silence or being alone, he's quite used to it by now, but when he's working he likes to hear something, some soft noises in the background, some reminder of life outside his own head. It helps him focus on his sketches.

Maybe that's also the reason why having Blaine suddenly in his apartment isn't as weird as it could be.

"Okay." Blaine nods and goes back to his book, his cheek dropping back against the backrest, so Kurt returns to his office. He puts his iPod on shuffle and lets the first notes of _Your Song_ drift quietly through the apartment. He had promised to do some preliminary sketches for a director he has worked with before, to help the director see more clearly what the characters could look like. It's a period piece, so he starts going through the books on his shelves, looking at fashion from the right era and making notes about the things he needs to remember.

Kurt is humming to the music when he suddenly notices that his humming sounds more like a duet than a solo and stops to listen. Blaine is also humming, almost half-singing along to the chorus ( _I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind_ ), the sound muffled by the space between the living room and the office, but Kurt can still hear how soft and tender his voice sounds.

Kurt smiles and continues humming himself, dueting with Blaine until the song fades out, and sketching a few experimental lines on his notepad.

 

\---

 

Kurt doesn't even realize that he's fallen asleep until he startles awake, blinking his eyes against the darkness. The last thing he remembers are the peaceful notes of some piano piece he has on his iPod and trying to keep his eyes open. Apparently he failed in his endeavors. He didn't sleep well last night, too stressed about everything, so his mind must be trying to catch up on some rest.

When he becomes more aware of his surroundings, he notices that the lights have been turned off and someone has pulled the curtains in front of the window, leaving the room in pleasant darkness. He was sitting on the small sofa he has in his office before nodding off, but somehow he's now lying on it in a comfortable position, an old quilt draped carefully over him. His notepad is closed on the desk, and his iPod isn't playing music anymore. He feels sleepy and warm and more relaxed than he has in days, but there's no way he could have managed to do all that by himself before falling asleep.

He turns his head and sees that there's a post-it note taped to the wall over the sofa. He reaches out and snags the note, squinting his eyes to read what's written on it through the darkness and his sleep-muddled mind. The handwriting is clear and cursive, and eventually Kurt's brain manages to make out what the words actually mean.

_Don't freak out – you looked so peaceful that I didn't want to wake you. Goodnight!_

_Blaine_

Of course it was Blaine, Blaine with his soft voice and kind eyes that he tries to hide for some stupid reason, and Kurt smiles to himself when he looks around the room and sees how precise Blaine has been in everything – how Kurt's pencil is placed carefully next to his notepad and how the curtains have been drawn so that the nightly lights of New York City won't disturb his sleep.

He pulls the quilt tighter around himself and decides to go back to sleep, still clutching the post-it note in his hand and feeling surprisingly safe.

Maybe he was right before. Maybe this bodyguard thing will work after all.


	6. Chapter 6

It's been more than a week, and Blaine knows that he's slipping already – he slipped when he covered Kurt with a quilt the other night after several minutes of hesitation, he slipped when his mouth turned into a reassuring smile the next morning when there was no new letter in the mail, he slipped when he sent an e-mail to Cooper and talked about Kurt so much that Cooper's answer was nothing but sexual innuendoes. He slipped when they were watching a movie one evening (Kurt said he was bored, and Blaine had nothing else to do) and he sat too close to Kurt on the sofa. He keeps slipping, no matter how hard he tries to be professional and distant, and it doesn't help that every time he does slip Kurt smiles at him like he's suddenly made everything better.

Whenever Blaine sees Kurt smile like that all he wants to do is to slip again, never mind the consequences. But he can't do that. He can't slip. He shouldn't do that. Blaine knows himself; he knows that whenever he starts to feel or care too much he screws up, he fails and everything crumbles to pieces. So he distances himself, bites his lip when he's about to smile at Kurt – at Mr. Hummel – and stops himself whenever Kurt looks sad and Blaine wants to reach out a comforting hand. Whenever Mr. Hummel looks sad, damn it.

He builds a cage around his feelings once again, tries to keep it up as much as he can. The bars protect him, protect everyone around him, but they still sometimes let his feelings reach out from behind them, like caged birds trying to see what's happening on the outside. Blaine keeps telling himself that that's all it is. Only a few slips, a few feathers peeking out. He just needs to try harder and not let it happen, try to keep his feelings locked up.

That's all. But then again it's not.

The days have been quiet. They both wake up early, Blaine because his thoughts are too loud and Kurt because of reasons Blaine doesn't know. They mostly stay in the apartment, Kurt working and Blaine reading or discreetly writing college assignments. He hasn't told anyone yet, not even Cooper or Wes, but a few weeks ago he started finishing his old assignments and essays even though he dropped out and still doesn't know if or when he's going back. At first the college stuff was just a distraction, something to occupy his mind with, but the more he does it, the more he starts to miss the chance of being a teacher. He doesn't return the essays to his old professors, just stores them on his laptop for future reference. For the day when he might go back.

Every once in a while he and Kurt go out shopping, meet Kurt's clients or just have coffee in one of the numerous coffee shops that Kurt Hummel seems to frequent. They talk a little, everyday things, nothing too personal from Blaine, and Blaine keeps Kurt away from thick crowds and shady passers-by. It's always Kurt who suggests these outings, and Blaine always agrees. Rachel also comes around a few times, and Blaine retreats to the guest room each time, deciding to give Kurt some sense of privacy with his friend. He knows that having a bodyguard must complicate Kurt's social life, and he doesn't want either one of them to go cabin crazy. _Maybe with you keeping me safe I could continue living the way I want to_ , that's what Kurt had said, and Blaine is trying his best to make sure that Kurt does live his life.

Kurt has a fundraiser on Saturday, roughly a week and a half after Blaine became his bodyguard. It's a smallish event in a fancy restaurant, and Kurt has mentioned that he isn't going to spend his whole evening there. One of the people organizing the event is someone Kurt knows and it's for a good cause, so he still wants to go. Blaine feels almost relieved: events are something he has experience from, something familiar. Something he knows how to handle.

He takes out the suit he packed with him – it's very discreet, very professional – and puts it on over his dark blue button-up. He stands a few minutes in front of the bathroom sink, staring at his hair in the mirror and debating whether or not he should put some gel in it. It's a good thing the guest room has its own bathroom, since Kurt has completely taken over the main bathroom with his products and clothes. Eventually Blaine decides to gel his hair down a little, just to make it look less wild and more... professional.

He wanders out to the kitchen and drinks a glass of water while he waits for Kurt. The weather has actually been nice today, but it's already late and Blaine can only see the city lights of New York from the kitchen window. The fundraiser begins at seven and it's already a little over six, and Blaine is looking at his watch, wondering if they'll be late, when Kurt emerges from his bedroom, spring in his step and smiling widely.

He looks absolutely gorgeous. His dark grey suit is extremely fitting, the pants making his legs look even longer, and he's wearing a black sequined vest underneath his jacket, which could look weird, but somehow Kurt manages to pull it off. On his feet he has black ankle boots, and there's a brooch that looks like a big beetle pinned to his jacket lapel. His hair is styled elegantly, and it looks soft and natural, like there's not even a hint of product in it.

Blaine does know something about fashion – he reads _Vogue_ and tries to keep up with the latest trends, but he doesn't always incorporate them into his own clothes. He likes cardigans and polo shirts, boat shoes and jeans, vests and quirky bowties, stripes and colors. College taught him to look a bit more grown-up, but other than that his style has stayed pretty much the same throughout the years. It's comfortable and reassuring, and if he put on something resembling the clothes Kurt is wearing right now, he would probably look completely ridiculous. But Kurt... Kurt looks amazing. Breath-taking, even. He looks original and proud and brave and stylish.

He looks gorgeous, and Blaine can't stop staring at him.

Kurt smiles and does a little spin, looking down at his outfit. "I have to admit, I'm proud of this suit. I had to make some changes to it after I bought it, but now it fits so well."

Blaine swallows. "It looks great."

"Thank you." Kurt raises his eyes and looks at Blaine's suit. "I like your suit as well. It has a good cut that works for you. And I love that you're wearing a bowtie." He grins.

Blaine straightens his simple bowtie, a little self-conscious in his discreet suit next to Kurt's amazing ensemble, but Kurt sounded genuine when he complimented Blaine's suit and Blaine does like his own style. He gives a small smile. "Thanks. I like bowties."

"I like them too, but I couldn't find a good match for this outfit." Kurt furrows his brow. "Anyways, I'm glad you have a nice suit! It would've probably been pretty weird if Kurt Hummel's assistant was wearing an awful suit." He looks uncertain. "You do remember that if anyone asks I'll introduce you as my assistant?"

Blaine nods. "Yeah, I remember."

Kurt sighs. "Good. I just don't want to spend the whole evening explaining to everyone why I have a bodyguard and listening to how brave of me it is to get out and oh, Kurt, you must be scared!" He rolls his eyes. "Okay?"

Blaine nods again. "Okay."

 

\---

 

There's a small red carpet with a few photographers taking pictures of all the guests in front of the restaurant. Blaine stands back when the photographers snag pictures of Kurt Hummel, the new big name in costume design, and of his amazing outfit. There are a few enthusiastic Broadway fans screaming behind the photographers and journalists, and Blaine's eyes keep darting from one person to the next, noticing how their eyes travel over Kurt's clothes and body like he's just a mannequin, and Blaine suddenly feels awful for his own ogling earlier.

When the photographers start shouting completely stupid suggestions ("hey, Mr. Hummel, could you do your Rachel Berry pose?"), Blaine moves closer to Kurt and steers him away. Kurt doesn't resist, just looks a bit confused and throws a smile over his shoulder to the fans. When they get inside there are more people, more noises, and Blaine has to concentrate – that man looks like he's drunk already, stay away from him, that woman is going to bump into Kurt, dodge her, wait, that path is clearer, let's walk there. His hand is resting on the small of Kurt's back, a touch that could be intimate but just feels professional and necessary right now.

The fundraiser has just begun when they reach the main hall. There are people trying to find their tables all over the restaurant, and someone's giving an introductory speech on the stage, though the words get lost in the general cacophony of the room. Blaine doesn't relax, not even a little – there are no enthusiastic fans in here, but they don't know who Kurt's anonymous fan is, and if Blaine has learned anything from going to events with Cooper it's that too much free alcohol and too little space tends to make even nice people act in a threatening way.

Kurt waves to a few people, but he looks a little lost, until his face suddenly breaks into a huge grin and he shouts, "Chandler! There you are!"

A blond man with thick-framed glasses is standing next to the bar, waving at Kurt and bouncing on his feet. He looks completely harmless, almost like an excited puppy, and Kurt does seem to know him, but Blaine can't just turn his instincts off, especially in surroundings as familiar as these, and he grabs Kurt's arm to stop him. Cooper once went to talk to someone who looked as harmless as this blond man and almost had a wine glass thrown at him.

Kurt does stop, but he looks at Blaine like he's being crazy. "Blaine, Chandler is harmless. He's not a threat." He wrenches his arm free and makes his way to the blond man (Chandler, apparently), and Blaine has no other choice than to follow him. That's his job.

Chandler kisses the air next to Kurt's cheek and gives him a glass of red wine. Blaine stares at the glass, just waiting for it to be thrown through the air, but nothing happens.

"Oh god, I can't believe this night is finally here! How does it look like?" Chandler gushes.

"It looks great, Chandler. You've really outdone yourself." Kurt takes a sip of the wine, smiling, until he seems to notice Chandler eyeing Blaine curiously. "Oh, sorry – Chandler, this is Blaine Anderson, he's my... assistant. Blaine, this is Chandler Kiehl, the friend organizing this event I mentioned earlier."

Blaine holds out his hand, and Chandler shakes it excitedly. "Assistant? Kurt, I didn't know you were doing so well!"

Kurt's smile falters for a moment, but Chandler doesn't seem to notice. "Well, you're not the only one who's outdone themselves," he quips.

"Obviously." Chandler rolls his eyes, but then he sees someone gesturing at him near the stage. "Oh, got to go! Thank you so much for coming, Kurt – it means a lot to me." He pats Kurt’s shoulder, gives Blaine a polite nod, and then skips off towards the stage.

Kurt sighs as soon as Chandler can't hear them anymore. "Seriously, Blaine. Chandler's not a threat, so you can stop staring at him like he's a criminal. He's just my ex-boyfriend."

"Resentful ex-boyfriend?" Blaine asks, declining the glass of wine the bartender tries to give to him.

Kurt laughs, but he sounds annoyed. "Did he look resentful? Look, our break-up was a long time ago. It was all very mature and we remained friends. That's all. He's not my anonymous fan, okay?" He takes another sip of his wine, not looking at Blaine.

Blaine is silent for a moment, but then his mind finally catches up with Kurt's words, and he tries very hard not to scream internally. After all, it's not like anything is ever going to happen between him and Kurt. Ever.

He clears his throat softly. "So... you're gay?"

Now Kurt does look at him, his eyebrows raised and looking confused. "Of course I am. Isn't it obvious?" he gestures towards his chest, as if he looks stereotypically gay, but his voice holds a tinge of bitterness.

Blaine wants to reach out and take Kurt's hand, make that bitterness disappear from his voice with the tactile gestures Blaine has always been prone to, but he can't slip, not now. So he just shrugs. "I try not to assume anything."

"Really?" Kurt says, sounding disbelieving, but when Blaine nods his face softens. "That's actually quite... nice." He bites his lip. "Rachel mentioned that you're..."

"I'm gay too," Blaine says before Kurt can finish his sentence.

There's a slender man walking towards the bar and he looks sort of shady, so Blaine grabs Kurt's hand again and guides him a few feet to the left. Kurt looks like he wants to say something more, but Blaine resolutely keeps his eyes on the crowd, focuses on seeing potential threats – the evening's still young and people aren't that drunk or tired yet, but there are a lot people, a lot of strangers, and he can't talk about his personal life with Kurt right now, he _can't_ , not when Kurt looks so gorgeous and the wine has painted his lips a little red. Blaine needs to focus on working, on being professional.

 

\---

 

Blaine closes the door behind him and can practically feel the tension flowing out of his body. The adrenaline is still running through his veins and his mind is still noticing every little detail, but just the simple act of closing the door to Kurt's apartment, closing the world outside, seems to ease the tension in his shoulders. There weren't any bad situations during this event – just a few drunken people and too tight crowds – and Kurt is safe, his gorgeous outfit is still gorgeous, and everything is fine.

Except apparently it isn't, because Kurt is sulking and stomps off into the living room before Blaine even has the chance to ask what's wrong. He sighs, massages the back of his neck tiredly, and then follows Kurt. He wants to go to bed, to another night in an unfamiliar bed and listening to the sounds of the apartment for any disturbances, but he can't just ignore the way Kurt is practically fuming. It's not slipping, he tells himself, if Kurt's angry and he tries to help.

Kurt is standing in the middle of the living room, his fists clenched on his sides and his eyes staring at Blaine, and Blaine literally flinches when he sees the way Kurt's gaze is burning.

"Why were you so rude to everyone?" Kurt grits out.

"What are you talking about?" Blaine asks, genuinely confused.

Kurt scoffs. "What am _I_ talking about? You're unbelievable!" He throws his arms up exasperatedly. "You spent the whole evening steering me here and there, dragging me away from everyone, not saying anything and practically glaring at Chandler! What did he do to offend you? You could've said something, anything, to him when we were leaving, but no, you just had to stand there and act like a... Like a... Like a bodyguard!"

"That's because I _am_ a bodyguard. Your bodyguard," Blaine tries to reason.

"I know! I'm not stupid!" Kurt's actually yelling right now, waving his hands in the air in wild gestures.

Blaine sighs. He really wants to go to bed. This fundraiser was calmer and easier than some of the events he went to in LA, but he's still tired. He was alert for hours, not resting for one second, watching and calculating all the time, and it's intense, it's tiring, especially after the half-sleepless nights he's had. He might logically know that the apartment is safe, but he can't stop imagining worst case scenarios, and his imagination isn't exactly helping him sleep.

"I know you're my bodyguard," Kurt continues, "but I thought that because you aren't a professional you wouldn't be so... so rude!"

"Rude?" Blaine asks, keeping his voice deliberately calm. He might not have professional training, but he can at least act professional.

"Yes! You treated Chandler like crap for no reason, and you – I'm not just some prop you can move from one place to another, Blaine! I didn't see anything remotely threatening, but there you go, dragging me to the other side of the room! For no reason!"

Blaine drags his fingers through his hair, loosening them from the gel's hold. "I was just doing my job, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt puffs his cheeks. "Well you could at least tell me what you're doing and not just drag me everywhere! And you still haven't told me why you were so rude to Chandler!"

Kurt is pointing his finger at Blaine, and somewhere in the back of his mind Blaine can hear Cooper saying _when people are really emotional they point their fingers a lot_ , and huh, that's surprisingly accurate. And wow, he's definitely tired.

"I wasn't being rude," he tries to explain. "I was just... Look, I understand that you don't like my methods and I can try to change, I can tell you what I'm doing the next time, but I was honestly just trying to keep you safe. Evaluating risks and threats, trying to steer you away from anything possibly harmful, whether that was obnoxious photographers or drunken guests. So I wasn't being rude to Chandler, my mind was just occupied."

"Why do you have to take this so seriously? I'm trying very hard to live my life the same way as I always have, but I can't, not with you acting like that," Kurt mutters.

That's the whole point, Blaine supposes – Kurt doesn't want to take this situation seriously. He's still in denial, and Blaine can understand why. The fan hasn't said anything dangerous yet, just sent one letter to Kurt's home address and four to Wes' office, and Kurt can pretend that maybe this is it, maybe the fan won't go any further than this. It's a real possibility, and Blaine sincerely hopes that the whole thing works out like that, with no one getting hurt.

But at the same time he needs to take into account the other possibilities, the worse options, and he can't just close his eyes. He was hired to do a job, and Blaine doesn't want to give up, doesn't want to fail this time.

"I get it," he says softly. "My brother and his friends just let me do what I needed to do, but I can try to let you know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I want you to live your life as well and I've been doing my best to make that happen. But I can't..." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I have to take this seriously, Mr. Hummel. I know there's a real possibility that the anonymous fan won't try to hurt you, but there's also a possibility that he will, and I have to be prepared for both of those possibilities."

Kurt stands still, but his shoulders are down, his whole posture defeated. Blaine sighs and drags his hand down his face, unties his bowtie and opens the top buttons of his shirt. Kurt looks up, and god, he looks so young, so lost, and Blaine just wants to hold him in his arms and never let anything bad happen to him.

"You look really tired," Kurt points out. His voice is calmer, no longer full of venom and anger.

"Thanks," Blaine murmurs.

Kurt bites his lip. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Blaine. I was... frustrated, and not just at you, but at this whole situation."

"I know." Blaine smiles a little, not caring if this counts as slipping or not. "It's okay. I should've explained to you how I work before we left. I guess I forgot how new this is to you."

"It's new for you as well, and I'm sorry," Kurt insists, stubborn in everything he does, and Blaine feels his heart beat a little faster. He's too tired to ignore it, so he smiles a little wider.

"Like I said, it's okay. Can I go to bed now, or did you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Kurt assures, even though there's still a sad look in his eyes that Blaine wants to erase. "Go to bed, you look like you're about to collapse."

"Okay. Goodnight, Mr. Hummel."

"Goodnight, Blaine."

When Blaine reaches the guest room he closes the door quietly behind him and then rests his forehead against it. If the situation was different, if he wasn't a bodyguard and Kurt wasn't his client, he would go back to the living room, talk to Kurt and ask him to tell Blaine what's wrong. He would go back to the living room and be a friend, lend an ear, help. Blaine loves to help people, but helping Kurt deal with emotional things feels too much like slipping.

Blaine knows himself. He really does. He knows he's slipping, he knows he's falling for Kurt no matter how hard he tries to stop it. Kurt is gorgeous and witty and amazing and brave, he has a smile that can light up the whole world, and if Blaine wants Kurt to keep smiling, he needs to stop slipping.

It's that simple, but then again it really isn't.

Blaine takes a deep breath and pushes himself off the door. He can hear faint footsteps outside the door as Kurt walks to his own bedroom even though he said earlier that he was going to go through some sketches after the fundraiser. Blaine feels awful – he knows it was his behavior that made Kurt angry, made him realize that the optimistic possibility isn't the only one. He should be the one apologizing, not Kurt.

Muffled voices from the other side of the wall reach his ears. Kurt must be talking on the phone with someone (Rachel? His dad who he has mentioned earlier?), but Blaine ignores the barely-understandable words. He changes into his pajamas and falls on the bed, burrowing his face into the pillows. He feels tired, but he has a feeling that tonight will be just another half-slept night.

 

\---

 

The rest of the weekend is awkward. Kurt can feel it in the apartment's air and in the way he and Blaine are almost dancing around each other in the confined space. They don't talk much, just obligatory greetings and _do you mind_ and _no, not at all_. Blaine reads his books, but he seems itchy, his hands clenching – not in a violent way, god no; just like he's looking for release, some outlet that isn't there. The curtain over Blaine's face looks darker than it has for days, his face tight and emotionless, his eyes almost resembling the eyes of one of the plastic mannequins Kurt worked with in college. If it wasn't for his twitching hands, Kurt would think he wasn't feeling anything at all.

Kurt had called Rachel last night, after the argument, and talked about everything and nothing at the same time, about Rachel's show, about his own sketches and about good old high school memories, until Rachel had innocently asked how Blaine was doing and if Kurt had gotten any new letters, all in one breath, and Kurt had faked being tired and hung up. He didn't want to talk about Blaine's smile and how scared Kurt is sometimes, scared of his anonymous fan and of his own alarmingly growing feelings for Blaine.

Blaine is always somewhere near, safe and solid, and Kurt has found himself staring at Blaine's jawline too many times already. It's... frightening, how fast those feelings have appeared.

So Kurt decides to escape the suffocating atmosphere and his own fears, and spends hours in his office, finishing the preliminary sketches and organizing his notes and books until they're all alphabetized on the shelves. The office is his favorite room in the apartment, his safe haven now that he finally has a space for his work and his work alone. He first spent years sharing a house with his dad and Carole and Finn, then a flat with Rachel, and finally a miserable office space with other interns before succeeding on his own. He always tried to take good care of his sketches and plans, but somehow they still ended up floating through his previous apartment and his home in Lima and his friends' dorm rooms and the flats of his previous boyfriends. Now he finally has a place to call his own, a space for everything work related, and he loves to have everything in order, everything in its place and a place for everything.

He always feels better after cleaning up. It's like therapy for him.

His thought process and the calmness of his office is broken abruptly when he hears a thud and a soft curse from the living room – well, if you can call _geez dammit_ a curse. He leaves the room and wanders out to the living room, trying to look nonchalant. He wants to know what made Blaine curse but with the awkward atmosphere he doesn't want it to be obvious.

Blaine is crouching next to the sofa, his brows furrowed a little. Three of his books are lying on the floor and he's picking them up, checking that none of the pages are torn or bent. Kurt thinks it's sort of endearing, the careful way Blaine handles works of art, his touch gentle and reverent. A few days ago they had watched a movie and Blaine had been extra careful with the DVD as well. It reminds Kurt of the way he himself handles fabrics and sketches.

"Is everything okay?" Kurt asks, and Blaine's head shoots up.

"Oh, yeah, sorry – I was trying to balance too many things on my lap and my books fell," he explains, gesturing towards the sofa where his laptop is still sitting. "And of course I now completely lost my place..." he mutters, picking up the last book and smoothing its cover.

Kurt still remembers Blaine's small smile from last night, right before they'd escaped to their rooms, and he wishes he could see even a ghost of that smile on Blaine's face right now. Blaine has a smile that makes Kurt feel better about everything, about stupid anonymous letters and about feeling like an outsider at the fundraiser last night. But Blaine isn't smiling, he's only frowning at his books or at himself. The atmosphere doesn't feel horribly awkward right now, as if everything that happened last night is forgotten for a moment, but it could only take one wrong word or gesture from either of them to shove the mood back into its previous state.

Blaine stands up and dusts his hands on his pants (yes, Kurt knows he should clean his whole apartment soon as well, but he's had other things on his mind), and looks over his shoulder to Kurt. They both startle a little as their eyes meet, and Kurt wants to curse when the atmosphere immediately shifts closer to awkward.

"Well, I was just going to..." Kurt gestures back towards the office, even though he just came from there.

Blaine turns away, curtain staying in place. "Sure. Let me know if you need anything."

 

\---

 

By Monday morning some of the awkwardness has melted away, and Kurt is humming and making coffee in the kitchen when Blaine walks in with the mail. It's already become a routine: they both wake up early (Kurt has trouble sleeping, but he doesn't know if Blaine's just a natural early bird or if it's something else), and Blaine picks up the mail while Kurt makes coffee. There hasn't been a new letter in several days, not since Blaine became his bodyguard, and Kurt tries to stay optimistic and think that maybe this is it, maybe this is all that's going to happen. Maybe he won't even need a bodyguard anymore and he can leave the awkwardness behind.

"There's the newest edition of _Vogue_ ," Blaine lists, flipping through the mail pile, "a postcard from France from someone called Mercedes, a letter from Backstage Talent Association, a thick letter from Andrea Gallagher..."

Blaine stops, and Kurt turns around, two cups of coffee in hand. "Was that all?"

Blaine is staring at the mail, and something in his expression makes Kurt's insides turn cold. The curtain is suddenly gone, and Blaine's face is a mix of sadness, anger and fear, all of it knit tightly around his eyebrows and mouth. He looks up slowly and then raises the last letter for Kurt to see.

It's a plain white envelope with just Kurt's name and address on it, without any mention of who sent it.

Kurt swallows loudly and puts the coffee cups down. "It could be anything, right? It might not even be from him." He tries to smile, but he knows it looks wrong and ridiculous.

"It could be," Blaine agrees, but his eyes say otherwise. Kurt leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to hide his suddenly shaking fingers underneath his arms.

"Can you... Could you open it for me?" he asks, immensely proud of himself when his voice only shakes a little.

Blaine nods and tears the envelope open carefully. It seems to take forever until he finally folds open the piece of paper inside it, and Kurt's heart is beating loudly against his ribcage the whole time. Blaine looks at the letter – and his face falls.

"Dear Mr. Kurt Hummel," he reads, his voice monotonous, "I saw your outfit at the fundraiser last Saturday night and was once again blown away by your talent. You are truly a gift for this world of bleak clothes and uninspired outfits, and I can only wish to someday wear something as inspiring as one of your designs..."

His voice fades away when Kurt moves towards the table and sits down heavily. Kurt doesn't trust his feet anymore, not right now.

"He was... He was at the fundraiser?" he asks, the cold feeling inside him turning even worse.

"Or he could have just seen pictures of it online," Blaine suggests, keeping his voice calm and sitting down as well. Kurt can see Blaine's hands twitching on the table, but not looking for release this time – they're twitching towards Kurt, trying to reach for him but for some reason stopping before they do. Kurt looks up and sees that Blaine has left the letter on the counter, as far away from Kurt as possible in the kitchen's confined space. It's a small gesture of comfort, and Kurt's willing to take what he can right now.

"But... But the fundraiser was on Saturday. How did that letter arrive today?" he wonders out loud. He feels violated, the same way he felt when he got the previous letter, but this time it's even worse. He had been naïve and thought that with a bodyguard watching his every move the letters would miraculously stop, the anonymous fan would disappear and stop teasing him with innocent-sounding words. He feels stupid for making things up in his head.

Kurt is a realist, but sometimes he seems to forget it. Or maybe his realism comes with rose-tinted glasses.

Blaine reaches for the envelope and looks at the stamp. "It's an express letter."

"Oh, so he just couldn't wait to tell me how talented I am by violating my privacy once again and making me feel like crap and..." Kurt covers his mouth with his hand, feeling the tears that are threatening to fall out pooling in his eyes. He feels so tired of this already. He puts on a brave face and tries to hide it, but he hasn't slept well for over a week and Blaine is still distant even though Kurt wants Blaine to tell him it's alright, needs him to be kind and understanding like he was that first day in Kurt's kitchen.

Blaine finally reaches across the table. He wraps his fingers around Kurt's, giving them a small, reassuring squeeze – and then his hand is gone again, leaving Kurt's fingers tingling and aching for more contact, more reassurance.

"I'll call Wes," Blaine simply says and leaves the kitchen.


	7. Chapter 7

Wes arrives immediately, a middle-aged detective called Levinson trailing behind him. Kurt sits on the sofa when they talk, almost in the exact same place he was sitting when he hired Blaine, his hands once again clasped in front of him, but this time Blaine unconsciously stands closer to him. Blaine's own heart is still beating in an erratic rhythm, upset and a bit terrified as well, and somehow this feels even worse than when the first letter arrived and Kurt asked him to be his bodyguard. Blaine knows Kurt better now, has followed him for days, almost for weeks, and seeing the tears in his eyes felt like a punch to Blaine's gut.

But now Kurt is staring at Levinson, nodding at everything the detective says, and he seems surprisingly calm and like himself, as if the way Blaine heard his voice break in the kitchen was just a momentarily lapse, a brief glimpse of things Kurt Hummel has managed to bury inside of him.

Levinson seems like a good man: he has a reassuring demeanor, like he has years of experience but hasn't let it sour his view of the world. He puts the letter in an evidence bag and promises to get it tested for fingerprints, even though he doesn't think they'll find anything on it.

"This guy's a sneaky son of a bitch," he explains. "We went through those other letters and couldn't find a single fingerprint on them or even any spit on the envelope. It's almost too sneaky. I'd say he doesn't want to just stay anonymous, he wants to stay as a nobody."

"Do you think he's dangerous?" Wes asks.

"I don't know yet. The letters aren't exactly threatening, and that's the reason this case isn't at the top of our list right now – I'm sorry, but that's just how it goes," Levinson adds when he sees Wes open his mouth again. "But if you want my professional opinion, I think it's bizarre that this guy is going through all this trouble just to send some complimentary letters. I don't know what his agenda is, but it's bizarre." He scratches his thinning hair.

"Should we take any precautions?" Blaine shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Kurt looks up at him from the sofa.

"You his bodyguard?" Levinson asks, and Blaine nods. "Well, I guess you should just keep doing what you've been doing so far. This anonymous guy hasn't made any other contact besides these notes, so I don't see any reason you should change everything. If Mr. Hummel didn't have a bodyguard already, I'd suggest he get one or just avoid being alone, but you seem to have both covered." He nods towards Blaine's pajama bottoms, which he still has on.

"Oh?" Blaine looks at his clothes. Kurt had immediately changed into more appropriate clothes, but Blaine's always been a bit slow in the mornings, especially if he has other things to concentrate on. He did change his ratty old t-shirt into a cleaner one, but apparently he didn't realize to change his pants. He sees the way Levinson is quirking his eyebrow, and blushes immediately. "Oh! No, we're not – I'm just his bodyguard. Nothing more."

Levinson chuckles while Wes tries to hide a smile. Blaine glares at them both and then chases away any inappropriate and unprofessional thoughts he might have. He chances a brief look at Kurt, who thankfully doesn't look uncomfortable or awkward. He does look thoughtful, however, like the conversation didn't even register properly in his mind or like he's thinking too hard about something, and Blaine wants to ask him how he's feeling. He doesn't, though; he's already had enough unprofessional for this morning.

Wes pats his shoulder as he and Levinson take their leave. Blaine thinks the gesture is supposed to be calming, but for some reason it feels a lot like one of Wes' patented _sometimes you are so stupid_ pats. Blaine has a feeling he's the only one Wes pats like that.

 

\---

 

Blaine's writing e-mails to his parents and Cooper that evening when Kurt storms into the guest room wearing skin-tight jeans, a grey shirt and a black leather tie. He stops when he sees Blaine sitting on the bed and crosses his arms over his chest, looking almost like a petulant child with his pouting lower lip.

"You, Mr. Anderson, have been no fun," he drawls.

Blaine blinks. "Excuse me?"

"We're going to a bar tonight, okay? Or I am, but since you're my bodyguard I'm going to have to drag you with me." Kurt shrugs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's Monday, Mr. Hummel," Blaine says slowly.

"So what? Rachel's coming, and so are Wes and Sarah, so get your ass off the bed and let's go!"

With that Kurt disappears to the hallway, and Blaine has to scramble off the bed to follow him before he gets out of the apartment. He may not be particularly enthusiastic about going to a bar on a Monday evening – the last time he did that was in college, and man, was he drunk then – and he doesn't even understand why they're suddenly going out, but he's on a job and he can't exactly let Kurt leave the apartment alone, especially not after this morning.

They end up in a small karaoke bar with a very tired-looking bartender and obnoxiously loud music. Kurt explains that the bar has a surprisingly large song selection, everything from Broadway to pop songs from their teenage years, as if the bar's song selection is the answer to every question running through Blaine's brain. Rachel's already at the bar, jumping down from her seat to give Kurt a hug and whisper something in his ear that makes him laugh. Wes and Sarah arrive right after them, and Sarah wraps her arms around Blaine as soon as she sees him. Blaine likes her, a lot – she and Wes are a good match, good counterparts, and Sarah treats Blaine like a little brother who has suddenly grown up.

And her chocolate-chip cookies are to die for.

"How are you doing?" she asks and gives Blaine's shoulders a small squeeze.

Blaine flashes a smile, a genuine one this time, because Kurt's still talking with Rachel and can't see him. "I'm fine, I suppose," he answers. "Even though I'm still a bit confused why we're in a karaoke bar on a Monday night."

Sarah laughs. "That's Rachel Berry for you. Apparently Kurt called her after this morning and she decided we all needed some fresh air, some alcohol and some ridiculous singing. I'm skipping the singing, though."

Blaine looks around the bar. "But it's Monday. This place isn't exactly overflowing." There are a few people spread out through the bar, sitting and talking, but the dance floor is completely deserted and no one's even looking at the karaoke machine in the corner.

"Ah," Sarah taps her nose. "That means even you can relax, Mr. Bodyguard."

Wes appears next to her and gives her cheek a small peck. "Have you given Blaine a good pep talk already, dear?"

"Yes, I think he's ready to face the world," Sarah says mock-seriously, and Blaine laughs. He can see over Sarah's shoulder how Kurt says something to Rachel and then gestures towards the bar, so he excuses himself and follows Kurt. He's working twenty-four-seven like he said to himself all those days ago, so even if the bar is half-empty, even if there are no completely dark corners and he has his eyes on Kurt all the time, he still feels like he has to follow him.

"What are you having?" Kurt asks him over the music, leaning against the bar in his tight jeans and looking completely carefree. Blaine tries not to stare at his legs and his ass, so he shakes his head, averting his eyes before Kurt notices.

"I'll just have water. I'm working after all."

"Fine. Be boring." Kurt shrugs, smiling to indicate he's at least half-joking.

Wes suddenly appears next to Blaine. "Trust me, Kurt, you do not want to see this guy drunk."

Blaine knows he's blushing, for the second time today already, and he tries to shoot Wes a glare, trying to tell him to _stop it right now_ , but Kurt's interest is already piqued.

"Oh? Tell me then – what is Blaine Anderson like when he's drunk?" he asks with a teasing smile, and fuck, Blaine knew tonight was a bad idea.

Wes pats Blaine's shoulder, and this is definitely one of his patented pats. "Let's just say that he completely loses control over his mouth and his body. Do you remember that one time after graduation when I came to visit and we had that Warbler reunion party?" He looks way too giddy, and Blaine kind of hates his best friend right now. Wes turns to look at Kurt, ignoring Blaine's expression and continuing the embarrassing drunken tale of one Blaine Anderson. "By the end of the evening he was so plastered that he kept singing Pink horribly off-key, tripping over his own feet, proposing toasts to everyone and everything and yelling how he was done with high school and one of the f–"

Blaine slams his hand over Wes' mouth. "Okay, I think that's enough, Wesley!"

Kurt laughs, but thankfully the bartender wanders up to them right then, getting Kurt's attention, and Blaine can throw a murderous look at Wes without anyone else noticing. Kurt orders something that sounds fancy and gets a sigh from the bartender as a response, but then he turns back to look at Blaine and Wes with sudden realization.

"Wait... Warblers? Were you in high school together? Are you telling me that Blaine was in the Warblers as well?"

"Oh right, I forgot to tell you." Wes turns to Blaine, ignoring Kurt's question. "Kurt's from Ohio as well – Lima, actually. Do you remember that glee club that beat us at Regionals? The New Directions? Kurt was their member."

Blaine thinks back. "You sang original songs?" After Kurt nods, his eyes widen. "Didn't New Directions win Nationals the next year?"

"That was us!" Kurt grins. "Me and Rachel were the lead soloists that year. But you didn't answer my question!"

Wes shrugs. "Yes, Blaine and I went to Dalton together, and yes, Blaine was in the Warblers. He was actually our lead vocalist for, what, almost three years? He wanted us to 'explore other talents as well', but he was still the one who sang the most lead."

Kurt looks at Blaine. "So apparently you can be fun, Mr. Anderson," he says, his eyes literally twinkling, and Blaine blushes again.

He knew this was a bad idea.

They take over one of the tables near the small stage, all too close to the karaoke machine in Blaine's opinion. It's been years since he last sung karaoke, and it's been over a year since he last sang in public – naturally he did sing at Cooper's house and Cooper once jokingly complained that he sang or hummed more than he talked, but he hasn't had the opportunity to sing in public for a long time. If the situation was different Blaine would be the first one on the stage, blasting out Katy Perry or Pink like there's no tomorrow, and a part of him wants to do that desperately.

But he's working now. Twenty-four-seven. Kurt just got a new letter this morning, and Blaine can't exactly let his guard down after something like that, not even in a half-empty karaoke bar. So he just sits back, follows the conversation and takes small sips of his water, watching as everyone else gets more and more drunk.

Well, watching as Kurt and Rachel get more and more drunk. Wes has a terrifyingly good tolerance to alcohol, whereas Sarah has to get up early tomorrow and doesn't want to spend the day in her bakery feeling hung-over.

Rachel's the first to hit the stage some time later, loud and giggling and pleasantly drunk, but she still manages to sing an amazing version of _Don't Rain On My Parade_. Blaine claps loudly for her while Kurt cat-calls, and some of the other customers start to turn their attention towards the karaoke machine as well, not necessarily interested in singing themselves but clearly ready for some new background music.

After the song Rachel drags Kurt on the stage – not that he's even resisting that much. They argue for a few moments until they seem to find the perfect song, and when the first notes drift from the speakers Blaine can't help raising his eyebrows. He knows that Kurt is a countertenor, and even his speaking voice is rather high, but _Defying Gravity_? That song has some awfully high notes. Blaine should know; he tried to sing it once at college because of a dare and choked completely.

Wes catches his eye over the table and mouths _watch and listen_ , so Blaine does just that.

Watching Rachel and Kurt perform together is like watching two incredibly talented artists fight over a solo, except it's all clearly in good humor: they keep circling the stage and playfully shoving each other, laughing and teasing. Wes and Sarah are clapping and swaying to the music, but Blaine promptly blocks out everything else when Kurt opens his mouth for the first time. He can't keep his eyes off Kurt. His voice is clear and simply gorgeous, soaring higher and higher without any strain or difficulty.

Rachel stops singing right before the high F, stepping back to give the spotlight to Kurt and Kurt only. Kurt's smile is confident and radiating, wider than Blaine has ever seen it, and he lets his voice pierce through the small bar like a wonderful bird springing to flight.

Blaine's breath stops.

He almost doesn't realize to clap, too stunned by Kurt's voice and performance. He's forgotten everything, everything else except the completely and utterly beautiful man standing on a tiny stage in this empty karaoke bar on a Monday night. Wes and Sarah are already whistling and shouting, and Blaine finally manages to come down back to earth and clap his hands together.

Rachel and Kurt take a bow, and then Rachel says something to Kurt before jumping off the stage and returning to their table. Kurt stays behind, browsing through the karaoke machine's selection.

"You were amazing! What's he going to sing?" Sarah asks as she hands Rachel her drink back.

Rachel beams. "Thank you! I just told him to sing something from the musical that gave him the lift-off." She shrugs. "It seemed appropriate."

Blaine frowns in confusion, but then he hears the soft melody of a clarinet coming from the speakers and understands what Rachel meant. Kurt is swaying lightly to the music, keeping his eyes closed until he opens his mouth and sings with so much emotion, so much strength that Blaine feels like even his heart is going to forget beating for a moment, right there and then.

" _Maybe this time, I'll be lucky. Maybe this time he'll stay..._ "

If Kurt was gorgeous singing _Defying Gravity_ , he's even more so singing the song that made Blaine bawl his eyes out when he was fourteen and saw _Cabaret_ for the first time. Blaine can't stop staring at Kurt, doesn't even want to stop, and it looks like Kurt is putting everything he has into the song, all his feelings and experiences, all the sad and disappointed thoughts Blaine can see on his forehead sometimes – and all of his determination as well, all the courageous glints that Blaine has seen in his eyes.

The song keeps building, and Kurt's hand starts moving with the melody, his voice getting braver and braver until it's filling the whole bar with the last lyrics.

" _'Cause everybody, oh they love a winner, so nobody love me. Mister Peaceful, Mister Happy, that's what I long to be. Well all the odds are – they're in my favor, something's bound to begin. It's got to happen, happen sometime, maybe this time... Maybe this time I'll win!_ "

Kurt throws his arm out on the last note, reaching for something in the bar's dark ceiling. Blaine is the first one to stand up, giving Kurt the standing ovation he so obviously deserves, and everyone else in the bar follows his lead. Even the bored bartender is clapping, his eyes wide open. Kurt drops his hand as the last note echoes through the bar, and then he looks around, smiling a little bashfully until his eyes meet Blaine's.

Kurt's smile falters, and he looks away quickly. Blaine doesn't know why.

It's even later in the evening when Rachel finds out that Kurt's Bodyguard-Blaine is the same Warbler-Blaine that she remembers beating at Regionals and forces him to sing something as well. Blaine in turn forces Wes to come on stage with him. Wes complains that he hasn't sung anything since high school ("and that was _ages_ ago"), but one thrilled look from Sarah seems to suddenly change his mind.

"You're completely under her thumb," Blaine teases when they get to the stage. He can still see Kurt, there are even fewer customers in the bar than when they arrived, and Rachel and Sarah are sitting next to Kurt, so maybe he can let loose a little as well.

Wes shrugs. "What can I say? She makes me forget everything about gavels and orders with one smile."

Blaine laughs and starts skimming through the song selection. "Alright, since there's no way we're getting out of this... Sectionals 2011? You do know the lyrics, right?"

Wes smiles. "Just like old times."

As much as Blaine loves cheesy pop songs, the best performance he ever had with the Warblers was when he sang Coldplay's _Viva La Vida_ at Sectionals. Sebastian Smythe probably thought they were being too dramatic, too pretentious or too over-the-top, but they still won, and their version of the song was the most fun Blaine's ever had on stage. He still remembers the choreography, can still sometimes hear the crowd cheer in his ears, and the memory of that performance always makes him smile.

So when the song starts playing through the tinny speakers, when the beating sounds fill the small bar, Blaine can feel something shift inside of him. For a moment he forgets everything about professionalism and being a bodyguard, forgets distance and distraction and just loses himself in the music, in the lyrics and Wes' familiar voice singing next to him. He's Dalton-Blaine once again, confident and eager, jumping on the stage and waving his arms with the beat, trying to make people feel better with the power of music. He knows he's practically beaming even though the lyrics aren't exactly joyful, but the music is strumming through him, taking him to a place he has missed without even properly realizing it.

" _One minute I held the key, next the walls were closed on me – and I discovered that my castles stand upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand..._ "

Blaine knows the lyrics by heart, knows them like the back of his hand. This, this feeling combined with the knowledge of helping people was what made him want to become a music teacher. It still does, and for the first time in months Blaine seriously thinks about dropping everything else and going back to college. He doesn't want to be a bodyguard for the rest of his life, doesn't want to shut himself off every single day. Music and helping people, those were and are the things he wants to do with his life – and oh how he misses them. He's helping people right now, helping Kurt, but the musical aspect has been sadly lacking in his life recently.

Maybe he should try to change that. Maybe he should try to rule his own world again.

When the song draws to a close Blaine comes back down again, back from the place that's filled with music and rhythm and wild hand gestures. He's breathing hard and sweat is running down his forehead, but he feels... good. He can feel Wes clap him on the shoulder and can see Rachel and Sarah screaming excitedly and jumping up and down, and Kurt –

Kurt is staring at him with his mouth wide open.

Blaine hasn't sung in front of Kurt before, not unless he counts those performances with the Warblers years ago. He's always had the habit of breaking into song wherever he goes, belting tunes when he feels particularly happy or sad, or when he just feels anything. He was never good with words, but he was always good with music. He's been holding off recently, though, consciously stopping himself from singing. He has hummed, but Kurt has never heard him sing or seen him go crazy with music like this. Kurt has never seen him lose himself like this.

But Kurt looks impressed now, his eyes shining with wonder and something else that Blaine can't quite grasp. Kurt shakes his head a little, as if he's clearing his mind, and then he's suddenly standing up and clapping his hands rapidly. He looks completely and utterly stunned, and his smile is so wide that his whole face is practically glowing with the strength of it. He looks ten years younger – and how on earth does he do that, Blaine doesn't understand it; they're the same age but Kurt manages to look both younger and older than his years, his face like that of a high school student but his eyes full of emotions that belong to someone considerably older.

At that moment Kurt looks so beautiful that Blaine can feel his breath catch in his throat, and he knows it's not just because of the exertion caused by his performance. He can't believe he did that – that he was the one that put that exquisite amazement on Kurt's face, that he managed to make Kurt look at him like that.

But he is Kurt's bodyguard. He shouldn't be the one making Kurt look at him like that. He can almost feel the way his feet, his mind, his feelings, his _everything_ , hit the ground when the thought registers in his mind. Right. He's working. Twenty-four-seven. The tired smile on his face slips for a moment, and across the bar he can see Kurt's face fall as well, his hands stuttering in the middle of clapping.

Blaine's silly heart misses Kurt's stunned look instantly and wishes he could just flip a switch and make it appear again.

His head knows he can't.

 

\---

 

Blaine has carried a drunken Cooper home a few times, carried some of his college friends as well, and has even carried Wes once – they don't talk about it, ever – but carrying a drunken Kurt Hummel is a whole different adventure. Kurt is giggly and clingy, holding on to Blaine's neck like it's a lifeline and babbling on and on about _Cabaret_ and what Rachel was like in high school. His mouth is so close to Blaine's ear that he can feel the hot breaths on his skin, tingling in a way that should be awkward but is just... Absolutely distracting.

"Rachel was so damn sure that I was going to sing... _Willkommen_ , or even _If You Could See Her_ , because she and I both know I'd make an excellent Emcee – oh, I so would..." Kurt giggles against Blaine's neck, and Blaine wishes desperately that the elevator would be a bit quicker. Or slower. He doesn't really know which choice would be better.

Kurt straightens a little, staring at Blaine's cheek with determination. "But just because Miss Rachel Berry sang _Maybe This Time_ when we were in high school doesn't mean she has eternal rights for it, okay? Isn't that right, Blaine? Blaaaaine. Blainey. Blainey-wainey? What if I called you Blainey-wainey, Mr. Bodyguard?"

The elevator pings when they reach the ninth floor, and Blaine drags Kurt to the hallway, fumbling to get the key to the apartment from his pocket while Kurt's hands roam across his arms and chest.

"God, Blainey-wainey, you're really... Attractive. Definitely not Arnold Sh... Swa... whatever his last name is," Kurt suddenly slurs, gripping Blaine's bicep and actually _squeezing_ it.

Blaine pales. This cannot be happening. Kurt's obviously drunk and he obviously doesn't actually think that Blaine is attractive. If he did, the feelings Blaine has managed to strangle and hide beneath his professionalism would probably burst free, and that could turn ugly in so many ways, so it shouldn't happen, and Kurt definitely does not see him as anything else but a bodyguard who has to follow him around everywhere, Kurt's just drunk right now, and what were these feelings Blaine was talking about, there are no feelings, just complete and utter professionalism and that's it.

... Dear lord, he's babbling inside his own mind. And he isn't even the one who's drunk.

Blaine finally manages to get the door to the apartment open and stumbles inside. Kurt almost trips over his own feet, giggling again, but Blaine keeps him upright and tightens his hold on Kurt's waist. The apartment is dark, and Blaine doesn't bother to turn the lights on. He has memorized where everything is, just in case, and makes his way towards Kurt's bedroom dodging anything that might be in the way. Kurt's breath is hot against his cheek, and he smells like alcohol and sweat and something else, something unique and completely Kurt.

"Attractive..." Kurt murmurs against Blaine collar. "And freakishly talented... I can't understand why you're not out there rocking the stages or something. I knew that the Warblers were good, but damn, Blainey-wainey." He hiccups, and Blaine tries not to smile. "You were like a... A rock star."

They reach Kurt's bedroom, and Blaine carefully drops Kurt on the bed. Kurt whines when Blaine disentangles their hands and bodies and tries to grab Blaine's shirtsleeve, but Blaine dodges his long fingers. Kurt's hands find the duvet instead and he flops down on the bed, pulling the comforter over himself.

Blaine sighs. "Mr. Hummel, you should at least take your shoes off. And your tie."

"I don't wanna," Kurt mumbles, his voice muffled by the duvet. "'m too tired."

Blaine sighs again but bends down to take Kurt's shoes off. He places them next to the bed and then raises the comforter to take off the black leather tie as well. Kurt tries to bat his hands away, but his movements are sluggish and slow, the tiredness finally taking over, and Blaine easily ignores Kurt's warm hands reaching for his own.

When Kurt seems to be as comfortable as Blaine can make him, Blaine covers him with the comforter and starts for the door. A small, questioning sound stops him after two steps, and he turns back towards the bed. Kurt has lifted his head from the bed and is staring at Blaine, his eyes suddenly impossibly blue and sad in the faint lighting.

"Blaine?" His voice is small and scared, and Blaine instinctively moves closer. Kurt's hand snakes its way out from under the comforter and reaches out towards Blaine, fingers shaking tiredly. "Don't... don't go, Blaine. Please."

Kurt's voice breaks on the last word, and Blaine couldn't say no even if he wanted to. He takes Kurt's hand slowly, giving him time to move away if he decides to, but Kurt just clutches his hand, tugging him closer and closer until Blaine has no other choice than to climb on the bed next to Kurt. He shuffles around before leaning his back against the headboard and lacing his fingers with Kurt's. He's trying to keep a respectable distance between them – he's just being professional; Kurt is his client and doesn't want him to go, so naturally he has stay – but Kurt cuddles next to him, twining his other arm around Blaine and letting his head fall on his chest, and Blaine's whole body tenses.

"I don't usually drink this much," Kurt mumbles, half-asleep already.

Blaine clears his throat, trying to think of what to do with his other hand. Kurt's hair is brushing his neck, and carefully he places his hand over Kurt's head, stroking his hair and running his fingers through it. His mom used to do this to him when he was small and scared (and after Sadie Hawkins as well, but Blaine really doesn't want to think about that right now), and it always made him feel safe. Maybe it will make Kurt feel safe as well.

Kurt snuggles closer to him. "I just... I just wanted to forget everything for a moment," he says under his breath, so quietly that Blaine barely hears the words, but he does hear them and his heart clenches painfully in his chest once again.

He knows it isn't professional, but he lets his lips brush against Kurt's hair for a second before tightening his hold on him. He'll just... stay here for a few hours, make sure Kurt sleeps well and everything is okay, and then he'll sneak back into the guest room. Hopefully Kurt won't remember any of this in the morning and they can just pretend nothing happened, can go back to professionalism and distance and dancing around each other like there's nothing between them, like Blaine doesn't feel better every time Kurt smiles and like Kurt didn't want Blaine to stay. Because there's nothing between them, only a professional relationship between a bodyguard and a client, and that's it. There isn't anything more hidden between them.

Kurt's breathing evens out slowly as his whole body relaxes in Blaine's arms. Blaine leans the back of his head against the headboard and stares at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

He has no idea what he's doing.


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt wakes up the next morning feeling like someone has parked a truck full of stomping animals inside his head. His mouth tastes like sandpaper – not that he has ever tasted sandpaper, but he imagines it tastes this scratchy and dull and awful. He doesn't even want to lower the comforter from his face because no doubt the curtains will be open and his eyes will be assaulted by the sunlight the moment he opens them. But it's Tuesday morning, he has work to do, and he has to get up. He's wearing yesterday's clothes, for god's sake, so he really _needs_ to get up.

Kurt groans and slowly pulls the comforter down. He peeks just one of his eyes open first, ready to shut it immediately if the light feels too much.

The room is dark around him.

... Wait. How did that happen?

Kurt raises his head slowly and looks around his bedroom. The curtains are closed tightly, leaving the room in blessed darkness, and there are some painkillers and a glass of water on his bedside table. Exactly what he needs right now, and it's starting to feel a bit scary how everything is exactly how he wants it to be and at the same time exactly how he knows it shouldn't be.

He reaches for the glass nonetheless and only then realizes that he's actually lying across the bed, his pillow placed carefully where his head was resting a few moments ago and his legs dangling from the side of his bed. The bed still feels oddly empty, like there's something missing. Something or someone.

That's the thought that brings back everything from last night: the bar and singing with Rachel and Blaine singing – and god, his voice was unbelievable – and then getting even more and more drunk and Blaine dragging him home and helping him to bed and...

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god. Kurt practically _cuddled_ with his bodyguard while being horribly drunk. How is he supposed to face Blaine after that? He doesn't even remember what he said to Blaine last night, but it must have been something completely out of line. The last time he was that drunk he said some pretty weird things to Rachel and Mercedes, which is exactly the reason he doesn't usually get this drunk.

Well, at least the unpleasant coldness and fear from last morning is now replaced with complete and utter mortification.

Kurt groans and lets his head sink back down. When his throbbing forehead is pressed against the gloriously soft pillow he realizes that it must've been Blaine who drew the curtains and left him a glass of water, once again taking care of him in a way that probably isn't a part of a bodyguard's job description. Kurt sincerely hopes he hasn't given Blaine any lasting traumas with his drunken cuddling. He does like Blaine and he'd like him even more if he wasn't so damn distant and professional, but he remembers how Blaine acted around Wes and Sarah last night, how he blushed adorably when Wes teased him – and how amazing he was on that stage, singing Coldplay like he was born to do it and jumping around like an excited five-year-old.

When Kurt was watching Blaine lose himself in the music in such a complete way, watching him make everyone else feel the beat and emotions as well, he could imagine Blaine as a teacher so clearly that his mouth had dropped open. He could imagine Blaine trying to get kids excited about music, trying to make them laugh and trying to help them deal with the sometimes cruel school world. But then Blaine's eyes had met his across the room and the curtain had fallen back into place, the real Blaine disappearing behind the bodyguard once again. Kurt had drunk some more after that, the evening had spiraled, and here he was now, completely hung-over and mortified.

They could be friends, Kurt muses, he and Blaine, if the situation was different. But things are as they are, and there's nothing Kurt can do to change them, not unless his anonymous fan decides to disappear and Blaine himself decides that they could have a shot at being friends, instead of a bodyguard and a client.

A shrill noise breaks through Kurt's thoughts, and he groans again. It takes him a moment to realize that it's his phone ringing, and a few moments more to finally get the offensive gadget out of his jeans' pocket and to answer the damn thing. He doesn't really have the energy to talk to anyone right now – he's way too busy wallowing in misery, thank you very much – but at least answering makes the annoying noise stop.

"'llo?" he grumbles into the phone and hopes that it isn't completely hung-over-less Rachel calling to taunt him about last night.

"Woah, kiddo, you don't sound too good."

"Dad?" Kurt lifts his head from the pillow, blinking his eyes open. "Why are you calling me this early? Is everything alright?"

"Early? Kurt, it's fifteen minutes over noon. I'm having a lunch break and decided to ask you how you and your bodyguard are doing."

Kurt buries his face back into the pillow with a sigh. "We're fine."

"What'd you say? I can't make any sense with you mumbling like that."

Kurt turns over on his back and rubs his eyes. "We're fine. I'm just hung-over and Blaine probably thinks I'm a complete freak after last night, but otherwise everything's just peachy."

"Hung-over? But it's Tuesday!" His dad sounds surprised, and Kurt cringes at his loud voice. He debates for a moment and then decides to just tell everything; he's never been good at lying to his dad, and he honestly needs someone to tell him he isn't a complete idiot right now.

So he tells it all, from the new anonymous letter to the cuddling with possibly involuntary Blaine. His dad doesn't say anything, just grunts here and there, and when Kurt finishes there's an awkwardly long silence on the other end of the line.

"Dad? Say something?" Kurt asks, rubbing his eyes again. He took the painkiller with the water in the middle of his explanation after his tongue had started to feel too dry, and he feels a bit better already – the stomping animals are just shuffling around right now – but loud noises and bright lights are still probably a bad idea. That doesn't mean he wants his dad to stay completely silent. "Are you... Are you disappointed in me or what?"

"No, Kurt, of course I'm not! Why would you think that? I was just trying to decide whether or not I should take the next flight to New York."

Kurt furrows his brows. He's already told his dad numerous times that the anonymous fan hasn't said anything dangerous. "Why would you want to come here?"

"You seem upset. Isn't that reason enough?" Burt says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Kurt realizes how bad he must really sound. Or maybe his dad is just that observant.

"No, dad, it's fine, really." He sighs. "I'm just whining and hung-over. That detective did basically say that we shouldn't worry too much, and I need to figure things out with Blaine by myself. I don't even know why I went to the bar last night. I guess I was just feeling... bad. I fought with Blaine over the weekend, and then there's this new letter and –"

"Wait, you were fighting?" Burt interrupts. "Are you sure everything's okay with you and Blaine?"

Kurt closes his eyes for a moment. "I don't know yet. I did just wake up, so I haven't seen him after last night. But I'll work it out, dad. I know I seem to complain about him every time you call me, but he's honestly good at his job. He makes me feel safe and he's... nice."

Kurt can practically hear his dad smirking. "Nice, huh? He gay as well?"

"Dad, it's nothing like that," Kurt scolds, but can't help smiling a little to himself. Blaine _is_ nice. Nice to look at, has nice manners, nice way of talking, nice smile, nice eyes – and that's as far as Kurt allows his thoughts to go, because yes, professional relationship. "Anyways, I don't want you to worry too much. Have you eaten healthily? Has Carole remembered to keep the bacon away from you?"

"Yes to both questions. I don't want _you_ to worry about _me_." Burt chuckles. "You know, Kurt, I'm actually kinda glad that you have a bodyguard living with you, especially if he's nice. I know you have Rachel and Mercedes when she gets back from France and all your other friends, but you've seemed a bit... lonely. So I'm glad you have Blaine to keep you company and keep you safe."

Kurt feels his heart clench. His dad is way too observant.

"But if you need me to come there and teach that bodyguard of yours a lesson..." Burt continues.

Kurt laughs and then groans, rubbing his head. "Dad, don't make me do any sudden movements, please."

"Sorry. I forgot for a moment that my kid's hung-over," Burt quips. "But everything's fine, right? I can come visit if you need me or..."

"No, I'm fine, dad. Trust me." Kurt smiles.

"Okay. I'll continue my lunch break then. And you get out of bed, it's over noon already and you can't hide in your room for the rest of the day."

"Fine," Kurt huffs. "I love you, dad."

"Love you too, Kurt."

Kurt hangs up and stares at the ceiling for a while. His head does feel a little better, and he really needs to get some work done today. He can remember getting a thick letter from Andrea Gallagher yesterday but forgetting to open it in the middle of all the anonymous letters and visits from the police. Andrea is a young director Kurt met right before his big break when they were both a bit lost in the business and tried to help each other out. Andrea has hired both Kurt and Rachel for her projects in the past, so she must have sent him something important.

So yes, he's getting out of bed. Right now. Awkwardness be damned.

Kurt pushes himself up slowly, mindful of his head. Slow movements seem to work though, and his head doesn't protest too much. He changes his clothes quickly in the darkness of his closet and decides to shower later. Clean clothes have managed to make him feel fresh enough, and taking a shower would just be postponing the inevitable. He pads to the door, takes a deep breath and opens it, mentally preparing for the blinding lights in the hallway.

Except the hallway is dim as well. Kurt’s starting to see a pattern here.

He's just inching his way out of his bedroom, stretching his head here and there to see if Blaine's in the living room with his books or still sleeping in the guest room (unlikely, since Blaine seems to be an early riser), when he both hears and smells it. Low music is drifting from the kitchen, and something smells wonderful – like cheese and tomatoes and spices, and Kurt feels his mouth water instantly. He knows that most people can't tolerate even the smell of food when they're hung-over, but he himself practically craves food after a night at the bar.

He tiptoes to the kitchen, keeping his movements slow and careful. The music and smell grow stronger with every step, until he reaches the doorway and has to cover his mouth with his hand to muffle the sudden laughter trying to escape from his throat.

The small radio Kurt has in the kitchen is playing Hall & Oates' _You Make My Dreams_ quietly, and Blaine is dancing in front of the stove, his feet stepping and hips swaying with the rhythm. He's wearing one of Kurt’s aprons over his own clothes, a dark green one with a picture of a bowtie on it. The apron was a Christmas gift from Finn years and years ago, and Kurt sniggers when he sees the fabric swaying around Blaine's thighs as he moves. For some reason he isn't surprised that Blaine decided to use the bowtie apron instead of the stylish chequered chef's apron that Kurt himself uses.

Blaine is stirring both the cheese sauce and the bubbling tomato sauce at the same time while he mouths along to the lyrics. He's being very quiet about everything, and it takes a moment for Kurt to realize that Blaine's probably trying not to wake him, even though it's already closer to one in the afternoon. That's just... endearing, and Kurt feels a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Blaine rolls his shoulders to the beat and then starts to actually _shimmy_ his hips, and Kurt can't take it anymore – he dissolves into laughter even though it still kind of hurts his head, but he can't help it, not when the scene in front of him is so ridiculous.

Blaine startles and almost drops the spoons he's holding before he manages to collect himself and look over his shoulder to Kurt.

"Don't scare me like that, Mr. Hummel," he mutters. The curtain on his face is back the moment he sees Kurt, and the laughter dies in Kurt's throat.

"Sorry," he manages to choke out. The curtain seems thicker than it has for days, and Kurt feels something tighten painfully inside him. "I just... woke up and heard the music. What are you doing?"

Blaine turns to look at the stove and continues his stirring. "Lasagna. I was getting hungry, and I figured you might be as well. Whenever my brother's hung-over he has a ravenous appetite and wants me to make him some lasagna. I'm going to put it in the oven in a minute, so it's still going to take some time before it's ready, but..."

Kurt forces a smile and takes a seat at the table. "It smells great, Blaine."

Blaine's back stiffens at the mention of his name. "Just doing my share, Mr. Hummel. I assumed that it'd be okay to borrow one of your aprons.”

"Yeah, of course it's okay. You live here as well." Kurt waves his hand in the air even though Blaine can't see him.

Blaine doesn't say anything, and the atmosphere shifts even closer to awkward as the song fades out on the radio. Kurt looks at the tightness in Blaine's back, at his meticulous movements when he puts the lasagna together and at the way he avoids looking at Kurt, and wonders how he should bring up last night when Blaine looks so guarded and it's all Kurt’s fault. A part of him just wants to ignore everything, pretend nothing ever happened and go work on his sketches.

But the elephant in the room is too big to ignore, and Kurt doesn't want Blaine to act like this, so he clears his throat. "Look, Blaine, about last night..."

Blaine puts the lasagna in the oven and turns to face him, the bright bowtie on his apron a stark contrast against the distant look on his face. "What about it?"

Kurt wrings his hands nervously, looking everywhere except Blaine. "I'm –" He takes a deep breath. "I'm really sorry I got so drunk. I'm sorry you had to practically carry me home and listen to my drunken ramblings, and I'm sorry I... cuddled you." He has to force the last words out of his mouth with a wince, but he does get them out and mentally gives himself a pat on the shoulder for it.

Blaine slowly crosses his arms over his chest. Kurt has noticed that he does that whenever he seems uncomfortable, as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible, and he has no idea when he started to catalogue each and every one of Blaine's gestures like this.

"It's okay," Blaine says quietly, even though his expression makes Kurt think he's lying. Blaine seems to notice it, since he raises his head and looks Kurt in the eye. "I mean it. It's honestly okay."

Kurt frowns. "So I didn't cause you any lasting psychological traumas by forcing you to cuddle one drunken Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine's mouth twists like he's trying to suppress a smile, and he shakes his head. "No, not at all. It naturally wasn't very professional, but I understand why you needed it."

Kurt tilts his head. This isn't exactly how he imagined this conversation going. "You do?"

"Well, you kind of said it yourself last night." Blaine gestures with his hand. "You said you wanted to forget everything for a while, and I get it. I get that these notes and suddenly having a complete stranger living in your apartment isn't exactly ideal, so it's perfectly normal to need some outlet every once in a while."

"Blaine, I _cuddled_ you," Kurt repeats. And he probably also said some embarrassing things but he doesn't actually want to know what, so he won't ask. "I practically forced you to hold me."

A faint blush appears on Blaine's cheeks, and he immediately turns to look into the oven. "You needed to feel safe, and that's what I'm here for. I just think it would be better to keep things... professional from now on."

Kurt nods. "Yes, of course. But I'm still sorry, Blaine. I don't usually drink that much. Honestly."

"It's okay. We're okay, Mr. Hummel."

Something in Blaine's eyes still seems weird, and Kurt doesn't believe for one second that everything is truly okay, but he doesn't want to press. He knows when to drop an issue, knows when he's walking on the edge, so he leans back in his chair and just watches Blaine fiddle with the dirty dishes for a moment. Eventually he sighs and gets up, comes up next to Blaine and nudges him aside gently. Blaine tenses for a moment, but then he moves out of the way and lets his shoulders drop back down.

"You made the food, it's only fair that I do the dishes," Kurt explains. "The lasagna really does smell delicious by the way," he adds and hands over the dish towel to Blaine.

"Thanks."

They work silently for a while, Kurt washing and Blaine drying, their hands brushing awkwardly every now and then. Kurt tries to once again ignore the small sparks that Blaine's touch seems to initiate in him, the gentle tickles under his skin, and concentrates extra hard on getting the pans clean.

"Just so you know, alcohol isn't usually my outlet,” he mentions lightly after some time.

Blaine gives a smile that somehow manages to be both teasing and shy at the same time, and the reaction almost takes Kurt's breath away. "So I figured."

Kurt grins, pleasantly surprised. "Usually it's cleaning. Or having an aggressive dance party in my office. What about you? What's your outlet?" he asks, trying to keep the conversation running.

Blaine stops, and his hand twitches again. Kurt suddenly remembers the day Blaine became his bodyguard, remembers Rachel saying something about Blaine being bullied and taking up boxing, and he wonders if the way Blaine's fingers sometimes flex is a sign of him missing boxing. Kurt doesn't know how often Blaine usually boxes or how long it's been since he last punched a bag with all of his strength, but he must miss it.

"Rachel said that you box," he ventures carefully when Blaine doesn't say anything.

Blaine gives a small nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I..." He pauses for a moment, and Kurt can see him thinking whether he should continue or not, whether it would be the professional thing to do. "I play guitar and piano and go running as well. But mostly I box."

Kurt blinks. No wonder Blaine has seemed so restless, so tightly wound. He hasn't had access to any of his usual outlets for several weeks, and Kurt isn't probably the only one who's stressed by this whole situation. He stares into the dish water, scrubbing the pan in his hands with concentration. He has no idea where the nearest gym is, and he doesn't own any instruments, but...

"I could go running with you," he suggests.

Blaine stares at him. "That’s really not necessary."

"No, it could be fun!" He gives the pan to Blaine with a cheerful wave that sends dishwater flying all over the table. "It's been ages since I went running. I used to go twice a week when I was in college, but somehow I just stopped when life got too busy. But it really isn't fair that I drag you everywhere and we never do anything you want to do."

Blaine shrugs. "I'm your bodyguard. You're not dragging me anywhere, I'm simply following you."

"Fine then." Kurt sniffs. "I'm going running tomorrow, and since you're my bodyguard, you'll just have to follow me. How unfortunate. Wear appropriate shoes."

Blaine ducks his head with a bashful smile. This isn't the way Kurt imagined the conversation going, but this is so much better. This is almost like... innocent flirting, and Kurt likes it. Someone on the radio is talking about taxes or something equally boring, the whole kitchen smells like delicious lasagna, and the awkwardness has completely disappeared from the room. Kurt scrubs the last pan clean and starts humming along to the next song on the radio. Blaine joins him after a while, and Kurt thinks that he could get used to this, to this level of domesticity even after an awkward night.

He sneaks a glance at Blaine, at his long eyelashes and small smile, at his kind eyes and the faint stubble on his cheeks.

Kurt could definitely get used to this.

 

\---

 

Later that day Kurt finally opens Andrea's letter and finds a thick script with a small letter attached to it. Curious, he skims through the script first, noticing certain songs or character names, and then reads the letter. Apparently the script is Andrea's new project, a brand new musical that she wants Kurt to design the costumes for. Kurt is immediately excited; he doesn't get the chance to design costumes for any new musicals that often, and he likes working with Andrea. She always gives him a free hand and uses his costumes as an integral part of the play, not as just pretty clothes.

He sends Andrea a text, thanking her and letting her know that he has gotten the script. He then retreats to his office – Blaine's sitting in the living room with his laptop and books once again, his feet tapping to a rhythm only he can hear – and starts reading the script from the beginning. From the get-go Kurt notices that the play is a contemporary piece, something he also hasn't done that often before. He did a lot of contemporary costumes in college, but after getting his degree and designing the costumes for _Cabaret_ he has mostly been hired for period pieces or plays set in fantasy worlds.

Kurt, if he may say so himself, has an impeccable sense of style and adores fashion – he follows it religiously, reads _Vogue_ like it's the Bible and loves to spot new trends and incorporate some of them into his own daily clothes – but the trick with contemporary plays is that they can't usually have high fashion. The characters are often, as they seem to be in this play as well, ordinary people who have their own styles and their own way of wearing their clothes. They might need to wear something awful, something that Kurt would never personally approve of, if it fits their character. Of course the same goes for period pieces as well, and Kurt has designed some hideous costumes for whores and beggars, but somehow it's still different with contemporary plays. It's more difficult, designing clothes that could, if it suits the character, be the epitome of everything he hates in modern fashion.

But Kurt loves challenges. They make him want to work harder, and even in college the contemporary designs he made were some of his best. The play Andrea has sent him is written well, the songs are catchy, and Kurt finds himself humming the notes to himself. Even the subject is topical and surprisingly close to Kurt's own experiences – the play is about a teacher and the students he's teaching, about the different conflicts in school world and how the teacher struggles to help his students and keep his idealism even when everything goes wrong.

The play reminds Kurt of his own school memories, and he can recognize the personalities of the play's students, the popular kids and the bullied ones, the jocks and the geeks, but he doesn't really see anything of his own teachers in the main character. Sure, Mr. Schue was idealistic, but not as idealistic as the teacher in this play and definitely not as painstakingly dedicated to saving everyone.

Yes, Kurt's a little bit bitter, so sue him.

After reading forty pages Kurt has a feeling that this play will be one of the most important projects he'll ever do, something that could show everyone how versatile he can be. He does have to wonder though why his life is suddenly full of teachers or people who could and should be teachers.

 

\---

 

Kurt keeps his promise and goes running with Blaine the next day. The weather is nice for once, but Kurt's still glad that he bought proper running clothes back when he was running regularly. The wind is biting even if the sun is shining from a cloudless sky, and the weather is definitely not suitable for thread-bare shorts and t-shirts.

The park near Kurt's apartment is full of other joggers, parents with their small children, dog owners with their pets and old people with their walkers, so Blaine stays close to Kurt, their shoulders almost brushing from time to time. Kurt had thought that they would have trouble falling into step, with him being taller than Blaine but also more out of practice, but Blaine fits his own steps with Kurt's effortlessly, their feet hitting the gravel in an even rhythm.

Kurt listens to the sound their shoes make when they connect with the ground, to their loud breaths, to the lonely birds singing in the trees and to the passers-by chatting with each other. His calves burn a little from the exertion, but Blaine keeps the pace calm and they did warm up before leaving, so Kurt just relishes the burn and keeps going. Sometimes Blaine grabs his arm and nudges him another way, away from a crowd or from a homeless person with a crazy glint in their eyes.

Even when they're running Blaine is working.

But when they get back to the apartment and all Kurt can think about is the drying sweat on his back and wanting to take a shower right now and immediately because he feels _disgusting_ – he happens to look at Blaine's shoulders and notices that they don't look as tense as they did before the run. Blaine's smile is tired but satisfied, the curtain thinner than usually, almost gone completely, and Kurt gives him a radiating grin in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were wondering - [this](http://image.spreadshirt.com/image-server/v1/products/20054800/views/1,width=378,height=378,appearanceId=360/A-bow-tie-with-dots-Apron.png) is what the apron Blaine is wearing looks like. Kurt himself uses [this one](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0065/1322/products/chefapron300dpi_grande.jpeg).


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine feels lighter. He keeps telling himself that he's not slipping, that he's just adjusting to the situation but he knows that he isn't keeping things as professional as he used to. When he stood in the kitchen that morning after their night at the bar and saw how worried Kurt was about giving him traumas with his cuddling – Kurt, who was lonely and vulnerable that night, who Blaine wants to and has to protect, who always seems to hold himself together – he couldn't keep his distance, not entirely. Kurt manages to knock down his walls and make the bars of his cage rattle, manages to make him suppress a laugh when he's supposed to be distant, and Blaine has to practically remind himself that yes, they have a professional relationship, that's all. They shouldn't make things messy with additional feelings.

But Kurt is someone Blaine could see himself falling for. Can see himself falling for, if he only gave himself the chance. Kurt is brave and compassionate, he makes Blaine feel like he wants to smile and laugh his head off, he makes him want to reveal everything he is, say " _here I am, I hope I don't disappoint you_ ". Blaine entertains these thoughts every now and then, usually when he's lying on the guest room bed at night, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch some sleep. He's still having trouble sleeping, imagining too many worst case scenarios in his head and listening to every silent sound the darkness seems to amplify. What can he say – his thoughts wander, and they seem to wander to Kurt scarily often.

Blaine is smiling more, he's finishing more and more of his old college assignments every day, he gets to go for runs again and has started to hum more often. So yes, he might feel lighter and he might be adjusting to the situation, but Kurt is still his client. They could be friends, he thinks, if the situation was different and if he opened up more. They're already sort of friends, close acquaintances at least. How could they not be, after spending every minute of every day in each other's personal space?

But that's as far as Blaine's going to allow it to go. Friends is good, friends isn't feeling too much, friends is still quite close to professional.

Blaine walks into Kurt's office late one afternoon and stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Kurt is hunched over his desk, reading a script and scribbling words in his notepad every once in a while. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and his hair is sticking in every direction, looking like he has run his fingers through it multiple times. He's completely lost in the play, oblivious of the world around him, and he doesn't even notice Blaine standing in the doorway.

He still looks gorgeous, a silent voice inside Blaine’s mind adds.

Blaine smiles a little and lets his gaze drift around the room. The shelves are neat and organized with a few framed photographs between the thick reference books and piles of papers. Blaine can make out Rachel, a tall boy and another girl with a wide smile in one of the photos, as well as an obviously pregnant woman and a man with a baseball cap in another one. The same man appears in another photo, this time with Kurt, the tall boy and another woman. There are three posters on the walls – a promotional poster for _Cabaret_ , probably for the production Kurt designed the costumes for, and two large sketches, signed with the initials _K. H._

Blaine hasn't looked at Kurt's sketches before; he has seen him drawing them in the living room, has seen glimpses of them that one night he found Kurt sleeping at his desk, but he's never actually stopped and looked at the finished sketches. The ones on the office walls are works of art, with vibrant colors and flowing lines, the costumes so alive that it feels like Blaine could reach out and feel the fabric against his fingertips. The sketches are precise and meticulous, not like some of the fashion sketches Blaine has seen once or twice that only have a few thick lines here and there. He can see what the costumes would actually look like from these sketches, how they would fit the person they were sketched for and what kind of a character would wear them. Everything in the sketches fits together: the colors, the shadows and even the facial expressions of the people wearing the clothes.

Blaine glances to Kurt, who is biting his lower lip in thought and underlining something in the script, and smiles to himself. Kurt definitely deserves his big break. He deserves praise and compliments, he deserves to see his name in several playbills, always preceded by the words _costumes designed by_ , and he deserves to have his designs gracing every single stage in New York City.

He doesn't deserve an anonymous fan toying with him.

Blaine coughs softly, and Kurt startles, lifting his head from the script and finally noticing Blaine.

"Sorry to interrupt," Blaine starts, "but you have an event in a few days, and I thought we could talk over some basic things about it?"

Kurt blinks and then smacks his forehead with his hand. "Oh, right, Geoffrey's birthday party! I completely forgot about it." He looks thoughtful for a moment, scrunching up his nose, but then he shakes his head and smiles at Blaine. "Sorry, you're right, we should probably talk some things over."

Kurt marks the page he's on and closes the script, putting his pen down. He's already standing up when he suddenly stops and frowns. "But... You do know that you don't have to do this just because I yelled at you after that last event?"

Blaine smiles. "It's not about that, I promise. It would just probably be good for us both to know a bit more – you about the way I work and me about the event itself."

Kurt grins back at him. "Alright then. I was actually thinking about taking a coffee break anyway. Kitchen?"

Blaine nods. "Kitchen."

 

\---

 

They cover the basics pretty quickly, sitting across each other at the kitchen table and sipping their coffees. Kurt admits he doesn't really know anyone from the party apart from Geoffrey who's one of his old professors from NYADA and some sort of a Broadway legend. Geoffrey's turning sixty-five and wanted to hold a huge party for practically everyone he has ever met, and Kurt was invited because he always liked Geoffrey's classes and because Geoffrey always liked him. Geoffrey also happens to like old swing music, and the party will be swing-themed – there'll be lots of dancing and an actual big band with wind instruments. Kurt figures he'll probably bump into several people he's met in passing during his career but not to anyone he knows very well. Rachel was invited, but she has some sort of a family affair and can't make it.

That's everything Kurt can tell Blaine about the event – he says he has a vague idea of the layout of the venue, an honest-to-god ballroom, but Blaine assures him that he'll survive just fine without a specific floor plan. It's not like he's had one before anyway.

After that Blaine explains some of the basic rules he follows in his work to Kurt. He avoids thick crowds because it's too easy to get lost in them; he steers his clients away from people who have had too much to drink because drunken people are often unpredictable; he dodges anyone who looks too suspicious or dangerous just in case. It has a lot to do with plain old instincts, but he tries to notice everything and anything, tries to assess possible threats even when nothing will most likely happen.

“That's why I might seem a bit rude – my mind's so occupied that I can't concentrate properly on anything else. But I can tell you what I'm doing or why I'm doing it this time," Blaine promises.

Kurt gives a small smile, but then his eyebrows furrow. "Isn't it... exhausting? Staying alert all the time?"

Blaine wraps his fingers around his coffee cup and thinks for a moment. He almost opens his mouth to say _no, of course not, it's my job_ , but Kurt looks genuinely concerned and Blaine just can't lie to him, not right now. "It is," he admits. "A bit. I mean you saw how tired I was after that last fundraiser. But I'm used to it by now and all I need to do to get over it is to get a good night's sleep."

He somehow forgets to mention that he hasn't had a good night's sleep ever since he became Kurt's bodyguard.

Kurt looks relieved. "That's good. Then at least I don't have to worry about you collapsing or something."

"Not going to happen," Blaine assures. He knows himself, knows how stubborn he can be and how far he can go. He has slept a few hours every night, some moments of slumber here and there. Well, alright, every other night. He just hasn't slept very well or continuously.

Their conversation quickly starts to stray to everything and anything after that. Blaine doesn't open up completely, doesn't talk about his personal life or smile as widely as he wants to, but he lets himself a little loose. They talk about Broadway and musicals, latest fashion trends and the books Blaine has been reading. Eventually they end up trying to remember old glee club performances, Kurt remembering the Warblers' songs from every competition scarily well while Blaine has more trouble remembering all the songs the New Directions sang.

It's easy, talking with Kurt. Kurt listens to everything he says intently, as if he's piecing together a puzzle of Blaine Anderson and everything he is, and Blaine feels like he's doing the same to Kurt. Even though Blaine avoids all the more personal topics Kurt talks freely about his own family and friends, about his previous works, and Blaine feels more and more fascinated by Kurt with every word. Kurt is smart and witty, and there are no awkward pauses in the conversation, no hesitant moments. Blaine feels lighter and lighter, smiling a bit more widely at every joke – until Kurt tells him a slightly exaggerated version of the make-over he gave Rachel during their sophomore year at NYADA, and Blaine can't help laughing out loud.

Kurt's eyebrows shoot up at the voice, and he looks pleasantly surprised, staring at Blaine almost... tenderly.

"What?" Blaine asks when his laughter stops, his lips still turned up in a smile. The look in Kurt's eyes is making him want to retreat, shuffle his feet and hunch his shoulders. He feels like he's on display, like everything in him is visible, but something in Kurt stops him, doesn't allow his retreat back to distance and professionalism, and instead makes him stare back, curious and waiting.

"No, nothing." Kurt shakes his head. "You just... You have a nice laugh."

"Oh." Blaine ducks his head. His cheeks feel like they're burning. "Thanks."

They sit in silence for a moment, but for once it's not awkward, even if they are avoiding each other's eyes. It feels natural, comforting, the way things are supposed to be. Blaine can't stop smiling, and he can see beneath his eyelashes that Kurt is still grinning as well.

But then Kurt's gaze wanders to the clock on the kitchen wall and he startles. "Oh god, is it that late?"

Blaine looks at the clock over his shoulder and realizes that it's over midnight already. They've been sitting in the kitchen for... Blaine doesn't even know for how many hours, but it's certainly been many. Even if it didn't feel like it.

They look at each other, both realizing at the same time that they just spent several hours talking about everything and anything like two old friends, forgetting everything else around them – and they both avert their gazes and laugh nervously.

Kurt drinks rest of his coffee and grimaces at the stale taste. "I should go to bed. Lots of work to do tomorrow and all that." He gives an awkward smile. "Goodnight, Blaine."

"Goodnight, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt gets up, puts his cup in the sink and heads for his bedroom. Blaine stays at the kitchen table, staring into the remains of his coffee. The words and feelings he didn't manage to voice are strangling him, trying to get out, but he just downs the last sips of his now completely cold coffee with a flinch and leaves the kitchen, flicking the light switch off as he goes.

 

\---

 

Kurt leans against his bedroom door as soon as he closes it, staring at the floor and suddenly feeling like a damn teenager. Giggles are bubbling inside of him, and his cheeks are probably completely red by now, blotchy and bright like they are whenever he blushes.

It's ridiculous. For god's sake, he's twenty-four years old, he has his own apartment and he's getting a name for himself in the theater circles – he's not going to burst into a giggle fit just because Blaine laughed at his silly little anecdote.

Kurt doesn't trust easily; it takes him months or even years to open up to a new person, to talk freely with them, to share his opinions with them. He's always been private, ever since he can remember, and his high school experience did nothing but reinforce that habit. It took him a long time to accept Rachel's attempts at friendship, to accept Finn as his brother, and an even longer time to be comfortable around his previous boyfriends. He's not like Rachel – he doesn't talk unnecessarily to anyone willing to listen, and prefers to keep his thoughts to himself. If he was a pessimist instead of a realist, rose-tinted glasses and all, he could say that he's often alone. He's been somewhat alone all his life, and he's gotten used to it.

But something about Blaine, even when he's distant and professional, makes Kurt want to pour his heart out, to talk about his likes and dislikes, to share silly stories and tell his secrets. He doesn't know what causes it – whether it's Blaine's kind smile or observant eyes or just the general atmosphere he creates – but Kurt has never met anyone else that makes him feel like that only after a few weeks. After a few days, even, because hasn't he been talking to Blaine in a similar way ever since he became his bodyguard, opening his life to him and immediately asking him to live in his apartment?

Kurt can hear Blaine's footsteps walk past his door, and he rests the back of his head against the door, trying to hear Blaine as long as he can. Kurt's the one that has been opening up for weeks, talking on and on about his own life, but tonight was the first time Blaine opened up a little as well. Ever since the cuddling incident and their awkward conversation in the kitchen Blaine has seemed a little less distant, a little more like the man Kurt saw standing in his kitchen doorway that rainy afternoon. The curtain is thinner, barely even there, and even if Blaine avoids personal topics and doesn't share information about his school life or his family the same way Kurt does, he's still more... present. More like the Blaine Kurt has been eagerly waiting to meet.

It's a small improvement, tiny even, but it's still filling Kurt's heart with feelings he doesn't quite understand. When Blaine had laughed Kurt could see that he was still holding back, still not laughing in the way that Kurt has heard him laugh a few times when he has called his brother – but it was still the most wonderful laugh Kurt has ever heard, shy and soft and completely Blaine.

Kurt runs his fingers through his hair, huffing to himself. They talked for hours in the kitchen. _For hours_ , and it was so easy to just let the words tumble out of his mouth and forget about the time and the situation hanging over their heads. Blaine has so many interesting opinions, so many tiny quirks that just fit him, and Kurt doesn't understand how that's possible – he doesn't really know Blaine, barely knows his surface, but there are still things that sound so much like Blaine, that make Kurt think of him when they're buying groceries or watching television in the evenings.

It's scary and a little overwhelming, to meet someone who makes Kurt feel so safe in every possible way. Even more overwhelming is the fact that Kurt has a feeling he's the one making Blaine open up more. Somehow he has managed to say or do something right, something that has allowed Blaine to take a few steps away from the professionalism and to pull back the curtain, even a little. Kurt can see glimpses of the real Blaine, of the whole Blaine, peeking through more and more everyday, and to know that he has somehow made that happen...

It feels good. It feels fair and balanced, that Kurt has managed to draw Blaine out a little when Blaine has kept him safe and filled the sometimes oppressive silence in his apartment. Perhaps his dad was right. Perhaps he hasn't been just alone, perhaps he's been a little bit lonely all his life, and now someone is finally stepping into his own little world and holding out their hand.

Kurt can't quite make out what his feelings towards Blaine are, not yet, not after just a few days of this more open version of Blaine, but as he spends his entire skin care routine and most of the night just staring into nothing, thinking about how Blaine is right there, behind one wall, and smiling like a silly little boy, he figures he must like these feelings.


	10. Chapter 10

Blaine has never been in an actual ballroom before. Dalton didn't have proms or any equivalent to them, and Blaine masterfully avoided all the dances or events they had with their sister school. His only experience from a school dance isn't exactly a memory he wants to think about, so he has deliberately stayed away from dance halls and ballrooms. Geoffrey's birthday party, however, bears no resemblance to Westerville High's Sadie Hawkins dance and Blaine has no worries about any unpleasant flashbacks. The huge ballroom is decorated tastefully with bright lights and heavy curtains, all of them some shade of blue. ("Geoffrey thinks blue is the official color of swing or something," Kurt had explained when they arrived.) There is a large stage on one side of the room, full of musicians already fiddling with their instruments, and a long bar on the other side. Round tables are scattered near the walls, but there's an open space right in front of the stage, obviously reserved for dancing.

There was no red carpet and no photographers this time, and so far Blaine has only had to steer Kurt away from one thick crowd. He keeps his promise and tells Kurt everything he's about to do, and Kurt seems to relax when Blaine rests his hand against the small of his back. There are a lot of people, all of them in gorgeous clothes, but no one looking quite as gorgeous as Kurt in his quilted metallic jacket. Kurt waves to a few of the guests, exchanges one or two words with Geoffrey himself, a tall balding man with a booming voice, and introduces Blaine to him as his assistant.

When the obligatory greetings are done, Kurt looks around the room like he doesn't know what he should do, and his shoulders tense again. Blaine thinks he looks almost a bit... lost.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, leaning closer to Kurt when they pass by the bar. The party hasn't even officially started yet, but there are already several people leaning against the bar, gesturing to the bartenders and sipping their drinks.

Kurt shakes his head, worrying his lip. "Not really? I guess we could go... sit down."

Blaine leads them through the crowd to one of the round tables, pulling a chair for Kurt and then sitting down next to him, scanning the ballroom for anything suspicious. Everything seems safe and joyous. People are talking and laughing freely, the band is already playing soft background music, and soon a few women and a man approach their table and ask if the remaining seats are taken. Kurt glances to Blaine, and when Blaine nods his approval, Kurt smiles thinly to the people and gestures for them to sit down.

The small-talk is awkward and shallow, the sort that always happens between complete strangers at parties like this ( _who are you, what do you do, how do you know the host_ ), and Blaine zones out of the conversation for a while, opting to let his gaze wander around the ballroom instead. When he focuses back a few minutes later an uneasy silence has fallen over the table, as it also often does at parties like this, and Kurt and the other guests are looking around the room as well. Another group of people has taken over the table next to theirs, and even though most of them are engrossed in their own conversation, one of the men is staying just as awkwardly silent as everyone in Kurt and Blaine's table.

Blaine glances at Kurt. Something in his posture seems odd, as if he isn't entirely comfortable, and his eyes keep darting from one guest to another. He's uncharacteristically quiet, and Blaine is about to lean over and ask him if something's wrong when the crowd suddenly starts to clap their hands.

Geoffrey has gotten up on the stage and gives a small welcome speech – he doesn't even use a microphone but somehow his voice still carries across the whole room. He receives a deafening round of applause when he finishes, and then the band starts playing again, louder and clearer now that the dancing can begin. The ballroom comes alive, and in a few minutes the dance floor is full of people, the air is bursting with swaying sounds, and the bright lights over the room seem even brighter, shining in the dark like stars too close to the earth.

Naturally the band – the orchestra, really – starts with _New York, New York_. It's amazing, and Blaine decides that he's definitely going to have a party like this when he turns sixty-five.

He hasn't actually heard live music like this in a while, not since he went to see a gig in LA with Cooper a few months ago. So even though he's focused and professional he can't exactly help it if his eyes sometimes dart to the musicians, to the pianist living completely inside the song, to the saxophones, trumpets and trombones blaring and to the talented singer giving his everything to the swing and bossa nova classics. Blaine's feet are tapping against the floor, and he can't exactly help that either, or the fact that his fingers are sometimes pressing against invisible keys or strings in the air.

He has always been a music person. He's horrible in visual arts – the best thing he can draw is a bunch of stick figures – and even though he loves literature he doesn't write stories, never has. Stories written by other people are more than enough to satisfy him. He fenced and played a bit of polo at Dalton, and of course there's boxing, but those were always just ways to empty his mind with physical exercise. He did try acting a few times, and while he was apparently good at it, it never gave him quite the same thrill and excitement as music. Blaine lives through music; he had small gigs at coffee shops when he was in college, Warbler practice was the best part of his day at Dalton, and whenever he hears music, especially live music, he feels more alive than he normally does.

He's been reading a lot for these past few weeks because his guitar is still in Los Angeles and he's living with Kurt and doesn't want to force Kurt to listen to his music. But he does miss music; he noticed it that night at that karaoke bar and he's noticing it again right now. So really – if he can't stop staring at the musicians, he can't really be blamed.

When the next song begins Blaine sneaks another glance at Kurt sitting next to him. Kurt is staring at the dance floor, at the couples swirling and waltzing to the music. They are laughing and having the time of their lives, but Kurt looks sad. His expression is a stark contrast against the joyful music and the glittering lights above the ballroom, and Blaine's feet and fingers stop their tapping immediately.

"Is everything okay?" he asks softly. He ignores the music and moves a little closer – their table is empty, all the other guests already gotten asked to the dance floor or getting more drinks at the bar, but Kurt's expression is still private, personal, like whatever he's feeling isn’t meant to be seen.

Blaine knows he's right when Kurt looks at him, obviously trying to erase all traces of sadness from his face, and grins a little forcedly. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You just... You don't look that happy," Blaine points out, trying to choose his words carefully.

Kurt flinches, and Blaine panics – he said something wrong, didn't he, oh god, he needs to fix this.

"I'm sorry," he hastens to say. "It's none of my business and I should have..."

The awkward grin falls away from Kurt's face and he shakes his head, turning back to look at the dancers. "No, it's okay. I just... Is it that obvious?"

 _Maybe not to everyone else, but I've spent the last few weeks studying your face and learning each and every one of your expressions because I hate to see you sad._ Well, Blaine's not going to say that out loud, that's just creepy.

"No, but I can still see it," he says quietly instead.

Kurt's lips turn into a sad smile. "I don't..." he starts and stops, his hands moving restlessly in his lap. He doesn't look at Blaine, but it's obvious that he's fighting some sort of a battle inside of himself and losing.

After a moment he finally leans back in his chair with a sigh. "It's just that I... I came to New York to be myself, to finally fit in, you know. The dreams of New York and Broadway got me through high school. Every time someone called me a fag or said something mean about my voice or my clothes, I just thought about New York and instantly felt better. I mean... My high school experience wasn't completely awful," he adds. "I had the glee club, I had friends, I had my dad and a support system, and things did get better after my junior year. I'm not saying high school was the best time of my life, but it had its redeeming features."

Blaine thinks about a sixteen-year-old Kurt Hummel, wearing amazing clothes like he is now but getting bullied and ridiculed every day, and his heart starts to hurt. He sincerely wishes that he had met Kurt earlier. Maybe he could have helped, maybe Dalton-Blaine could have stood up for Kurt, and maybe Kurt's expression wouldn't be so sad right now.

Kurt laughs bitterly. "It had its redeeming features, sure, but I still always felt like an outsider, like no one understood me. I was the only openly gay kid at my school, at McKinley High in Lima, Ohio, full of homophobes and Neanderthals, and even though my friends tried to understand, they never really... got it."

Blaine gets it; he knows what Kurt means. Kurt's high school experience sounds a lot like Blaine's first year at Westerville High, right after he came out and right before Sadie Hawkins, but Kurt's life must have been even worse, with his proud personality and out-of-the-box clothes.

Dalton saved Blaine, at least in some ways, and Blaine wonders if Kurt was ever saved.

"So I always thought that when I came to New York everything would magically fit," Kurt continues, not looking at Blaine. " _I_ would magically fit. And I'm grateful for everything I have, don't get me wrong, and life has gotten better, so much better, even though I have this stupid anonymous fan situation going on right now." He laughs again, and it sounds a little choked. "But sometimes I feel like... Like I will always be that scared little kid. Like I will never fit in. I mean look at them." He gestures towards the dancers and the orchestra, and Blaine looks, looks at the smiling faces and the bodies moving together with the music.

"They all look so happy together. And I'm sitting here alone, with just my bodyguard as my company." Kurt closes his eyes. "It's like prom all over again. Isn't that... pathetic?"

Blaine shakes his head immediately, his lips forming a quiet no. Kurt Hummel is a lot of things and pathetic is definitely not one of them. Kurt's eyes are still closed, and Blaine notices his throat swallowing nervously, his hands still restless in his lap, as if he's waiting for Blaine to dismiss his feelings as something stupid or trivial.

It's like Blaine's seeing Kurt for the first time; seeing the man behind the clever words and designer clothes and unique voice, seeing the boy who feels like he never had the chance to be just him and be accepted for it. And _god_ , that boy is beautiful. Blaine never wants to see him doubting himself, never, and he would do anything to see him smile right now. No matter how unprofessional it would be, no matter how badly he would slip.

Blaine furrows his brows a little, looks at the crowd once more, and then promptly gets up. He stands in front of Kurt, holding out his hand, and Kurt blinks his eyes open, looking up at him and raising his eyebrows even though his eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

"Blaine? What are you doing?"

"Dance with me." Blaine wiggles his fingers a little.

Kurt's eyes widen. "What? Are you crazy?"

"Come on. Dance with me," Blaine asks again.

"Blaine, you're my bodyguard. Wouldn't dancing with you be considered... unprofessional?"

Blaine shakes his head with a smile. "I'm not a professional, remember? So I don't care." He bends down and takes Kurt's hand slowly. Kurt doesn't flinch away, just stares at his hand like it's something unreal. "You can't not dance to this music. So would you please do me the honor and dance with me, Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt opens his mouth and then closes it, still staring at Blaine's hand. "I... Okay?"

Blaine smiles and pulls Kurt to his feet. "Come on then, they're just starting a new song."

He leads Kurt to the dance floor, not letting go of his hand for even a fraction of a second. The horns blast out the first notes, loud and brave, and Blaine turns to look at Kurt when they reach an empty spot on the floor. Kurt looks bewildered, his mouth a little open and his eyes shining beneath the bright lights, and Blaine smiles reassuringly before placing Kurt's hand on his shoulder and then his own on Kurt's back.

The smooth voice of the singer drifts over the crowd when they start to dance, swaying with the rhythm. Kurt's back is stiff against Blaine's hand and his eyes keep darting from Blaine to the orchestra and to the other dancers, but Blaine just keeps smiling, tugs Kurt a little closer and hums along to the words of the song. He knows he's slipping worse than ever before, knows that he's not being professional or distant, that he's not acting like a bodyguard – but for once he doesn't care.

Slipping has never felt better.

When Kurt finally relaxes a little and gives a small, nervous smile during the first chorus, the tears gone from his eyes and most traces of sadness from his face, Blaine can't stop grinning so widely that his mouth feels like it's going to break his whole face in half.

But the song ends all too soon, and Kurt lets go of Blaine's shoulder during the following applause, taking a hesitant step towards the tables, like he's somehow thinking that this was a mistake. Kurt's cheeks are flushed, and Blaine can feel his own face burning as well, but he can't let go of Kurt, not yet. He knows he did this for Kurt, to make him feel better, but there are still barely visible tight lines around Kurt's eyes that Blaine's grin hasn't managed to erase. Kurt still isn't smiling completely, not giving Blaine that smile that always makes him feel better. And Blaine knows he needs to feel better right now as well – this is for him and Kurt both, a way to associate dancing with something good, something beautiful. The last time Blaine danced like this with another man, with another boy, he got beat up, and he has to remind himself that this is different, that he is different, that there are no jocks waiting around the corner.

The slow notes of _My Way_ start to drift over the room, and Blaine tightens his hold on Kurt's hand and stares into his eyes, almost desperately.

"One more dance?" he asks. "Isn't it a tradition to dance at least two songs with the same partner?"

Kurt opens his mouth and looks at him, disbelieving. "Blaine, you don't have to –"

Blaine shakes his head. "I want to."

"But... This song?"

Blaine tugs his hand a little shyly. "I've always liked it. And it's... fitting, don't you think?"

Kurt swallows, but when Blaine tugs his hand again he gives in and places his other hand back on Blaine's shoulder. He doesn't meet Blaine's eyes, and Blaine knows he's going to regret this tomorrow, knows that he's slipping too much and too far, but he still pulls Kurt closer until he can hook his chin over Kurt's shoulder and wrap his other arm around Kurt's torso.

"Is this okay? I can – I mean, we don't have to..." he starts when Kurt stiffens under his hands.

Kurt takes a deep breath, the puff of air tickling Blaine's neck. "No, it's... It's fine. I just... You don't need to do this because of me."

Blaine sways a little. "Yes I do." He stops for a moment, pushes the thoughts of professionalism out of his mind and gathers all his courage. "And I... I think I understand. I didn't always go to Dalton, so I get it. I know what it's like."

Kurt's fingers tighten on his shoulder for a moment, but then he relaxes against Blaine, all the tension flowing out of his body, and he leans his own head against the side of Blaine's face, a few strands of his hair tangling with Blaine's gelled curls.

Blaine closes his eyes. They are so close that he can feel the heat from Kurt's body, can smell the skin care products he uses. It's not professional anymore, not distant, but Blaine can't bring himself to care; what they're doing now is for the boys they were before, for two terrified teenaged boys who were bullied and ridiculed because of who they are. It's redemption – a reminder that they made it.

They sway together under the blue lights, two lost and lonely boys who grew into men and made things better. When the song is drawing to a close, the horns and strings stronger and bolder than before, Blaine leans even closer and sings the last lines quietly to Kurt:

" _For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught. To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels..._ "

Kurt turns to look at Blaine, his eyes shining with tears again, but this time he's smiling genuinely, giving Blaine the smile that always makes everything better, and all the tight lines are gone from his face. His eyes are full of emotions, and Blaine feels like he's allowing himself to see Kurt as a whole for the first time, seeing the flaws and bad memories right next to everything brave and gorgeous.

" _... The record shows I took the blows – and did it my way_ ," he finishes softly, staring into Kurt's eyes. He knows he has to go back to being a bodyguard soon, that he has to let go of Kurt and start to focus on work any moment now – but maybe he has deserved this small moment of lingering. Maybe they both have.

 _Thank you_ , Kurt mouths as the crowd erupts into applause around them.

The song changes soon enough, but Kurt doesn't pull away and Blaine doesn't want to stop, so they just keep dancing.

 

\---

 

They dance to several other Sinatra songs and swing classics, both fast and slow, all of them starting to blur together after a while. By the time they decide to stop Kurt feels light-headed and almost dizzy, and he wants to go home as soon as possible, go home with Blaine and leave all these people he doesn't even know behind.

"I think we've reached the end of our stay," he whispers to Blaine when the orchestra starts yet another song. Blaine smiles and nods, and Kurt wonders how on earth his smile is still so comforting, like a warm embrace around Kurt's heart, like the whole feeling of Blaine's arms around him wrapped up in one smile.

They spot Geoffrey near the bar and head over to say their goodbyes. Geoffrey's voice is booming despite the loud music around them, his movements exaggerated and large, and Kurt can see Blaine flinch when Geoffrey claps Kurt's shoulder. The words they exchange don't register in Kurt's mind, but apparently he doesn't say anything stupid since Geoffrey keeps smiling at him and then good-naturedly waves them off. Kurt doesn't notice anything when they leave the ballroom and get their coats, doesn't concentrate on the people walking around them and doesn't even have the presence of mind to criticize their outfits. He only feels the pressure of Blaine's hand on the small of his back, guiding him away from thick crowds and drunken people the way they talked about earlier.

The only one Kurt notices right now is Blaine. The curtain is completely gone, and Blaine's face is like an open book, full of emotions and thoughts. His cheeks are a little flushed, a thin layer of sweat is shining on his forehead, but his eyes are focused and determined, noticing everything and everyone and always coming back to rest reassuringly on Kurt. Blaine's whole posture is determined, but not in a distant way, not in the way that Kurt has gotten used to during these few weeks. He's open, relaxed and present, completely and without a doubt, and he's still doing his job masterfully.

The air outside is chilly and damp from rain. They hail a cab – Kurt doesn't notice whether it's the first or the tenth cab that passes them – and find shelter in the confined backseat. Automatically Kurt rattles off the address, a reaction he gets every time he steps into a cab, while Blaine settles next to him, closer than he usually sits. A small smile is tugging at the corners of Blaine's lips for some odd reason, and Kurt finds himself grinning as well. The cab driver rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

The ride is a blur of stolen glances and shy smiles that Kurt can't quite comprehend. He stumbles when he gets out of the car even though he didn't drink anything, and Blaine's hand is immediately on his arm, keeping him upright. The soft drizzle has turned into a downpour, and they run to the doors. Blaine futilely tries to protect Kurt's hair from the rain by keeping his hands over Kurt's head, and Kurt can't help but giggle. It's ridiculous; everything about this moment is ridiculous.

The doorman raises one eyebrow at them and just wishes them goodnight as they walk through the lobby. In the elevator Kurt runs his fingers through his hair and catches his reflection in the large mirror – his hair is a mess and dripping with water, his coat is wet and his face almost completely red, but he's smiling like an idiot. Blaine shakes his head, his curls sending little droplets of water flying, and Kurt laughs again. Blaine looks like a drenched puppy, and the amused look on Blaine's face tells Kurt that he probably looks the same.

Finally they reach the ninth floor. Kurt digs his keys from his pocket and opens the door, and they get inside. The apartment is dark and silent, and their steps seem to echo through the hallway.

Blaine shakes his head again. "That was a..." He searches for a right word. "An _interesting_ birthday party. I didn't know people actually reserved actual ballrooms for their birthdays."

"Geoffrey is a little eccentric." Kurt shrugs his coat off, and before he realizes it Blaine has already taken the coat from him and hung it carefully.

"I really want to hire that orchestra for my next birthday," Blaine says wistfully.

Kurt stops for a moment. Blaine sounds different. His voice is softer, and he doesn't sound like a bodyguard or like he's hiding behind something. He's talking more, the tone of his voice changing to fit his words, and his voice sounds so expressive that Kurt doesn't even need to see his face in the dark hallway to know what his expression looks like. He sounds like... Blaine. Just Blaine.

Kurt ducks his head with a soft laugh and quips, "I'm sure you can afford them with your bodyguard salaries."

Blaine hangs his own coat and then turns to look at Kurt. "I'm... I'm sorry if I overstepped or anything when I asked you to dance."

"No!" Kurt exclaims, lifting his gaze. "No, you didn't, trust me. It was... nice. Really. Thank you."

Blaine beams at him and then reaches over to brush a stray strand of hair from Kurt's forehead. His fingers are warm and soft against Kurt's face, and suddenly Kurt realizes just how close to each other they're standing. Blaine smells of rain and hair gel and sweat, and Kurt can see his eyelashes trembling when he blinks his eyes, his thick eyebrows staying completely still.

Blaine's fingers stop when they reach Kurt's hairline, stroking quietly. He takes a deep breath, and then his eyes dart hesitantly to Kurt's lips. Kurt almost stops breathing. They both lean slowly closer and closer, and Kurt can already feel Blaine's soft breath on his lips when Blaine seems to realize what he's doing. His eyebrows shoot up and he quickly moves away, letting his hand fall from Kurt's hair and putting some distance between them. Kurt startles, surprised by the sudden movement and the coldness that hits him when Blaine isn't near him anymore.

Blaine crosses his arms over his chest, not looking at Kurt. "I'm... I'm glad I could make you feel better," he mumbles under his breath.

"I'm glad as well," Kurt manages to croak out. He can't tear his eyes away from Blaine's face, away from the embarrassed blush on his cheeks or the way his lips are almost quivering.

"That's... good," Blaine stammers. "I'm just... I think I'm going to go to bed. It's getting late."

"Yeah." Kurt swallows.

Blaine's eyes dart to Kurt's face again, staying far away from his lips. "Goodnight, Mr. Hummel."

The distant name twists through Kurt's body and settles next to his heart like a cold weight. "Goodnight, Blaine."

Blaine shuffles his feet, takes one last look at Kurt – and his eyes are full of something, something that Kurt doesn't quite grasp, something that seems to be a complete enigma to Blaine himself as well – and then disappears down the hall. Kurt stares after him until he hears the guest room door thud shut. His shoulders slump immediately, and his hand rises to touch his lips that are still tingling from Blaine's breath.

_What the hell just happened?_

 

\---

 

Blaine lies on his bed that night and doesn't sleep at all. He stares at the ceiling, listens to the quiet voices of the apartment, and wonders what on earth happened between him and Kurt tonight.

He tries not to tug his hair in frustration, but somehow his fingers, the same fingers that were in Kurt's hair just a few hours ago, find their way into his curls anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, after a night of intense thinking, Kurt finds Blaine in the kitchen looking out of the window into the still pouring rain. He's completely lost in thought, something Kurt hasn't seen before. Blaine is always observing, always attentive, his gaze following Kurt's movements or passers-by or words on paper, and it feels strange to see his eyes staring into nothing.

Blaine's hair is a mess. His curls are wild and unkempt, sticking into every possible direction, and it looks like Blaine has been running his fingers through them for hours. Kurt's fingers itch to smooth them down, but he knows he can't do that right now. Blaine looks like even the smallest touch could make him revert back to professionalism, back to the distant shell he's been hiding behind.

It's weird. No one, not even his previous boyfriends, has ever managed to make Kurt feel so accepted, so safe and understood as Blaine did last night. No one has ever listened to him like that, not offered any empty words of advice and instead just literally reached out for him. Showed him that he's not as alone as he thinks he is, reminded him that things really are better and that even if he doesn't always feel like it, he _does_ fit in, better than he ever has before. Kurt feels like he's floating above ground, all thanks to Blaine, and not even the awkward memory of everything that happened in the hallway can quell the happiness inside him.

No one has ever made him feel this much.

But at same time he has to wonder what Blaine's high school experience was like. Not at Dalton, but at his other school, the one he hinted at last night. Kurt knows what Dalton is like, has seen the uniforms and read the brochures back in high school. He researched the school when the Warblers were against them for the first time and was jealous of the school's zero-tolerance bullying policy, but he also knew that his dad could never afford the tuition. Wes has told him stories about the school, and it really does sound like a safe haven for everyone. But Blaine said he 'didn't always go to Dalton', the tone of his voice implying that he transferred because of serious reasons, and Kurt wants to ask him what those reasons were, wants to know what happened to Blaine before Dalton, wants to hear his experiences.

But right now Blaine looks like he's about to crack. He looks tired, and for the first time Kurt notices the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Blaine?"

Blaine startles and turns to look at Kurt. "Oh. Morning, Mr. Hummel."

"Did you sleep well?" Kurt asks tentatively.

Blaine shrugs and ignores the question. "There was no mail today."

"Oh, okay." Kurt decides to let the dark circles go for now, since Blaine is obviously not going to tell him about them. He takes a bagel and some cream cheese from the refrigerator and starts to make himself breakfast. "Did you eat already, or have you just woken up?"

"I've been awake for a while. I ate and made coffee. It's probably still warm."

"Thanks."

Silence falls over the room. Blaine stays where he is, leaning against the counter and continuing to stare out of the window. Kurt finishes his bagel and pours himself a cup of coffee and then, after a moment's consideration, pours another cup and turns around to hand it to Blaine. Blaine startles again, but takes the mug from Kurt, murmuring his thanks.

The atmosphere is almost suffocating, and Kurt doesn't want that; he wants to feel happy like he did last night after the dance.

He sighs and sits at the table. "Blaine, we have to talk about last night. This isn't..."

"I know," Blaine interrupts, putting his mug on the counter and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know what happened in the hallway wasn't professional, and I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I'm _sorry_. I just hope we can put it behind us and... move on."

Kurt tilts his head in confusion. "I'm not the one who's uncomfortable here, Blaine. It was a... momentary lapse of judgement, kind of like that night I cuddled you. It's okay. Things like that happen when you're stuck in someone else's personal space twenty-four-seven." He doesn't say that he sort of wishes Blaine had finished what he started, had closed those few remaining inches between them and kissed him. He hasn't been kissed like that in a long time, and he does like Blaine, maybe even more than he can admit to himself. "I just thought that we should talk about it and not leave it hanging in the air."

The curtain falls over Blaine's face, and Kurt feels his heart clench. What? What did he say wrong? They were doing so well yesterday!

"We can talk about it if you want to, Mr. Hummel. I just... I shouldn't have done it." Blaine doesn't meet Kurt's eyes and he crosses his arms over his chest, a sign of how uncomfortable he already feels. "I didn't mean to do it and I'm... I'm sorry I crossed a line. I'm sorry I crossed several lines last night."

Kurt bites his lip and then says quickly, "It was nice."

That makes Blaine raise his head and look at Kurt, his eyes wide and confused. "You... What?"

"I know it wasn't professional and I know that you probably didn't mean anything by it, but it was nice, okay?" Kurt explains. "Last night was nice – dancing with you and laughing with you and... everything. It made me feel like I fit in, like I finally had some company at an event. I forgot all this anonymous fan business for a moment and just enjoyed my life. And not even an awkward moment in my hallway can ruin that, so you have nothing to be sorry for and you can stop apologizing, and fine, we can ignore it and move on if it makes you feel better because honestly, watching you look that uncomfortable is making me feel bad and I don't want to feel bad right now when yesterday was so great and I have an amazing script waiting for me, and god, I'm babbling, please tell me to stop already?"

Blaine smiles at him. "You can stop."

Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Blaine's arms fall down again and he takes his coffee. "So... we're okay?"

Maybe they should talk about it more, but Kurt doesn't feel like admitting his own feelings, not yet – and he doesn't want to make Blaine any more uncomfortable than he already is.

"Yes. Just like you said we were okay after my cuddling, I'm saying that we're okay now." Kurt looks at Blaine, hoping he looks as sincere as he feels. "You were really great last night, Blaine, and I'm not uncomfortable. I'm just grateful that you listened to me like that."

The corner of Blaine's mouth tugs upwards. "Always."

Kurt feels his breath catch. Where on earth has this Blaine been hiding? This Blaine who goes from uncomfortable and distant to understanding and open in a second, who can't stop smiling at him and who looks so kind that Kurt wants to tell him his whole life story because he knows Blaine would understand and make him feel better? He shakes his head to clear his mind and looks at Blaine who is fiddling with his coffee cup.

"Sit down, you're making me feel nervous with that fidgeting," Kurt laughs.

Blaine grins but takes a seat opposite Kurt. "So do you have any other events coming up that I should know of?" he asks.

Kurt swallows a mouthful of his coffee. (Note to self: Blaine makes damn good coffee.) "Mm, not for a few weeks actually. The next one is this big charity concert in about three weeks."

"You're singing there, aren't you?" When Kurt raises his eyebrows, Blaine shrugs. "Wes told me about it when I first came here."

"Yes, I am singing. The whole idea of the concert is to showcase the talents of people who are usually working backstage. Apparently someone realized that quite many costume and set designers or lighting technicians and sound engineers have performing talents as well. I can sing, obviously," Kurt sniffs and Blaine grins, "and I know this one set designer who can play the piano like an actual concert pianist. There are others as well, so someone organized a meeting, got us all together and now we have our own Backstage Talent Association. Sort of to remind us that we're not boxes – that we have more than four sides to us. All the profits from this concert go to supporting theater programs in schools, so it's even for a good cause."

Blaine's eyes start to shine when Kurt says the word school. "That sounds great! Some schools have really appalling programs or no theater at all. The arts deserve all the support they can get."

"That's the biggest reason why I agreed to perform." Kurt smiles. "I mean, of course I love performing and every chance to show how good I am is extremely welcomed. Costume design is my biggest passion, but singing will always be kind of my first love. It's hard to forget how good it made me feel."

Blaine opens his mouth, as if he's about to share some detail about his own professional dreams, but then seems to decide otherwise, just smiling at Kurt instead. "I can understand that. You were great at that karaoke bar."

Kurt blushes. "Thank you." Brushing his bashfulness aside he perks up. "Anyways, I'm really looking forward to that concert. I haven't been that active in organizing it, but everything I've heard about it sounds amazing. It will be a real spectacle."

"I'm sure of it." Blaine takes a sip of his coffee. "But you don't have any other events coming up?"

Kurt thinks for a moment. "No, not unless something unexpected pops up. That's actually a good thing, because I really do have to spend a lot of time working with the costumes for that new script."

Blaine raises his eyebrows. "Oh? Can you tell me what it's about, or is it a big secret? I've never known anyone who works directly with theater before, and I'm... intrigued.”

"I guess I can tell you – but only if you promise not to tell a soul about the plot because it's all very hush-hush."

"Deal. I can keep a secret."

I bet you do, Mr. Full-of-Surprises-and-Secrets, Kurt thinks.

 

\---

 

The phone rings five times before Rachel picks up and starts rambling immediately.

"Kurt, my dear, as much as I love hearing your voice and knowing that you're doing fine, my dads are having their anniversary and we just came back from a lovely dinner, and they asked me to sing for them, and you know how they get when performances start late – I still need to decide between Céline Dion and Barbra, or maybe I could even sing some Liza, and right now really isn't the –”

"He almost kissed me," Kurt blurts out.

There's a moment of silence, and then Rachel is practically screaming into his ear, " _What_? Who almost kissed you?"

"Blaine." Kurt takes a deep breath. "We went to Geoffrey's birthday party last night, and Blaine asked me to dance and was really lovely the whole evening, and then we came home and he leaned closer and almost kissed me."

Rachel squeals. "See? I was right! He does like you! What happened then?"

"He ran away."

"What? Why would he do that?" Someone, probably either one of Rachel's dads, says something in the background, and Rachel shushes them.

Kurt sighs. "Rachel, Blaine's my bodyguard. I'm his client. We can't... We have to keep things professional."

"Why?" Rachel asks, sounding honestly confused. "You've seen _The Bodyguard_ , haven't you? Kevin Costner had an affair with Whitney Houston."

"Yes, but I'm not exactly Whitney and Blaine isn't Kevin Costner."

"But you like him, don't you?" Rachel insists.

Kurt stares at the wall of his bedroom so long that Rachel repeats the question. "I don't know, Rachel. I honestly don't know." He sighs. "You remember what he was like when I hired him, don't you? He's opened up so much during these past few days, talking more and just smiling and laughing, but I still feel like he's hiding so many things about himself. And he's always ready to retreat back to that professionalism, always ready to hide himself again, and I wish he would just... be himself. Maybe then I could figure out just how much I like him."

Rachel hums on the other end of the line. "Well, I did suggest that you give him some time, and obviously that has worked. But maybe giving him time won't work anymore. You don't even know how long he's going to be your bodyguard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kurt frowns.

"It means that you should enjoy it while it lasts. Make the best of the situation, and maybe give him a little nudge. Show him that you want him to be himself. Or tell him how you feel."

Kurt scoffs. "We're not really at that stage in our relationship yet."

"Kurt." Rachel says his name like she's talking to a child. "I love you and you're my best friend and one of the bravest people I have ever known, but sometimes I just want to smack you on the head for being so stupid. He almost kissed you! Obviously you're not the only one who's confused about your relationship. If he doesn't take the first step, you have to do it. If you don't even try, you lose by default."

Kurt laughs. "Where did you learn that?"

He can almost hear Rachel’s smile. "From you."

Kurt ducks his head. Rachel's right, as she is scarily often these days. "Okay. But I'm... I'm not going to tell him today. We just dealt with the awkwardness of last night, at least in some way – even though I have to admit that it was pretty confusing – and I don't want to drive him back to being uncomfortable right away."

"Just don't wait too long," Rachel sing-songs. "I'm sure he'll be relieved when you talk to him."

Kurt bites his lip. "I just don't want to mess this up," he mutters.

"Kurt? What did you say? I didn't catch that."

"I said that Céline Dion would be a good choice," Kurt says louder, keeping his uncertainty out of his voice.

"What?"

"You should sing Céline Dion," Kurt explains. "It's your dads' anniversary and they deserve a big sappy love song. And I bet you've sung something by Barbra to them already."

Rachel gasps theatrically. "You know me too well."

 

\---

 

 **From Blaine:**  
I almost kissed him.

 **From Cooper:**  
Kissed who, B?

 **From Blaine:**  
Kurt of course. Who else could I be almost-kissing?

 **From Cooper:**  
FINALLY!!!!!!  
Wait. Almost kissed?

 **From Blaine:**  
I stopped myself and ran away.

 **From Cooper:**  
How classy, squirt.

 **From Blaine:**  
Don't call me that.

 **From Cooper:**  
I'm just saying that your e-mails have been about him and him only. Seriously, have you even talked to Wes after you came there or have you just been mooning over your client?

 **From Blaine:**  
Oh god. Wes. What if he finds out that I almost kissed his best client?  
And I have not been mooning over Kurt! I just spend every hour of every day with him. What else could I talk about?

 **From Cooper:**  
I'm sure Wes would understand. He's cool.  
And I don't know, the weather? New York? Whatever books you're reading? Yourself? I don't even know how you are when all you talk about is Kurt this and Kurt that.

 **From Blaine:**  
Sorry. I'm...  
I'm okay.

 **From Cooper:**  
That doesn't sound convincing.

 **From Blaine:**  
It's just been hard. I really care about him, Coop. I don't want to screw this up.

 **From Cooper:**  
Oh Blainey, you gotta have some trust in yourself. You've been doing that distancing yourself thing again, haven't you? Trust me, you're not gonna screw things up.

 **From Blaine:**  
I ALMOST KISSED HIM.  
How is that not screwing things up?

 **From Cooper:**  
Was he angry?

 **From Blaine:**  
No.  
He was really understanding.  
He said it was nice.

 **From Cooper:**  
THEN WHAT'S THE PROBLEM??????

 **From Blaine:**  
Are you being intense? Is there pointing involved?

 **From Cooper:**  
Stop making fun of my methods and tell me what the problem is.

 **From Cooper:**  
Blaine? Are you still there?

 **From Blaine:**  
I shouldn't care about him this much. I shouldn't.  
It won't work.  
It will just ruin everything.

 

\---

 

They go running again the next day. Blaine is smiling and bouncing on his feet when they're leaving, and Kurt thinks he looks absolutely ridiculous. When Blaine notices Kurt's fond smile, he stops and retreats a little, his smile falling into a smaller one and his heels dropping back to earth.

Kurt thinks about what Rachel said and opens his mouth to say something, to say that even if Blaine is his bodyguard he doesn't have to be so distant, that he can be his silly and adorable self. To say that he thinks he really, _really_ likes Blaine – but then he remembers how quickly the curtain had covered Blaine's face yesterday morning, how immediate the change had been, and he doesn't want to make Blaine retreat any further.

So he just continues smiling, falls into step next to Blaine and lets him be his bodyguard.

The same keeps happening during the next few days. Blaine is more open, he smiles more and talks more, but he still retreats a little every time Kurt smiles to him or compliments him or asks his opinion about something. Kurt is purposefully asking Blaine's opinion about practically everything, about the food they're going to eat, about the weather, about the books Blaine's reading, about the television shows they end up watching in the evenings. He's trying to draw Blaine out, see how far he can make him open up. And Blaine is opening, but Kurt still feels like they’re hitting a certain barrier of professionalism each time they talk, like there's some line Blaine won't cross, and Kurt can't bring himself to tell him about his feelings. Not when they're at least staying still in a nice situation. Not when Blaine is already trying so hard. Who is he to force Blaine out of his shell anyway? He's just Blaine's client.

And if Blaine seems a little disappointed in himself every time he stops and retreats, as if he doesn't really want to do it but still does it because of his own reasons, there's really nothing Kurt can do.

That's what he keeps telling himself, silencing the nagging voice inside his head that keeps repeating that he should just tell Blaine everything and share his own secret thoughts, show Blaine that they could at least be friends. The nagging voice sounds annoyingly like Rachel.

 

\---

 

A few days later Kurt walks into the kitchen in the morning, his head still muffled from sleeping too little, and finds Blaine sitting at the kitchen table staring at a letter. Blaine's shoulders are impossibly tense, his whole back rigid, and his brows are twitching almost unnoticeably.

"Blaine? Is everything alright?" Kurt asks and rubs his eyes. He stops behind Blaine and blinks his eyes to see the letter Blaine is holding.

"This came in the mail," Blaine croaks, his voice breaking on the last word.

It's a nondescript white envelope addressed to _Mr. Kurt Hummel_ with no return address. Kurt feels his own shoulders tense as well and sighs. Getting reminders from his anonymous fan will never be nice, but it feels even more annoying after all these good days.

The good days, alongside with Blaine's small smiles and open eyes have, however, made him feel braver once again, so he takes the envelope from Blaine and rips it open.

He expects Dear _Mr. Kurt Hummel_ and compliments that make him want to vomit because the contrast between the sweet words and the feeling of someone invading his privacy is so stark. He isn't expecting big and black typed letters screaming at him from the paper, exclamation marks and words that have been underlined with thick angry lines, all pleasantries and manners forgotten.

He reads some of the words, understands slowly what they mean – _I SAW YOU AT THAT PARTY. I SAW YOU DANCING WITH THAT JOKE OF A MAN, A DARK-HAIRED IDIOT WHO DOES NOT DESERVE YOU. HE DOES NOT HAVE THE SAME IMPECCABLE TASTE IN CLOTHES AS YOU DO. WHY WERE YOU DANCING WITH HIM? WHY WERE YOU LAUGHING WITH HIM? YOU COULD DO SO MUCH BETTER. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?_ – and then he has to let go of the now rumpled letter and lift his hands over his mouth because he feels like he's going to be sick, right there and then.

The letter falls on the table, and before Kurt can stop him Blaine's already taken it, straightened it out and begun to read it. Kurt watches his face because he can't look at the stupid angry words on the letter anymore, and maybe Blaine will smile comfortingly and make everything better.

Instead he sees the moment when realization dawns on Blaine's face, probably when he reads the words about a dark-haired man, and suddenly Kurt wants to scream in frustration. The defenses are coming back so fast, the curtain falling over Blaine's face and his expressive eyes, dimming everything. All the doors Kurt had managed to open, all the progress they had made, they're all slamming shut right in front of him, and Kurt's hand reaches out on its own, as if he could stop Blaine from retreating if he just touched him, if he just got through to him.

Blaine flinches away from his touch and drops the letter back on the table, standing up so fast that he almost knocks over the chair he was sitting on.

"I shouldn't... This is my fault," he whispers. There are no emotions in his voice, just detachment, just professional failure. No Blaine, just bodyguard.

"No, Blaine –" Kurt starts, hearing the desperate tone of his own voice. He doesn't want his bodyguard right now, he wants Blaine. Blaine with his smiles and kind eyes and always moving hands. Blaine with his warm arms around him when they dance to old swing classics, with his breath ghosting over his lips in the dark hallway.

Blaine shakes his head and doesn't even look at Kurt. "I'm... I'm sorry. So sorry. I'll call Wes and let him know," he says, like this is all just business, just a job, but no matter how distant he looks like Kurt can still hear the small tinge of fear and sadness in his voice. He's listening more carefully than usual, catching every nuance of Blaine's voice for his own sake, and it almost sounds like Blaine's saying he's sorry for other things than the letter as well, like he's sorry for everything that has happened.

Blaine turns his back on him (still tense, still rigid) and leaves the kitchen. Kurt closes his eyes, trying to block the tears he can feel stinging his eyes. Isn't it enough that his stupid anonymous fan has to irritate him and make him scared and attack his privacy? Does he have to drag Blaine down as well, destroy everything they have won?

 

\---

 

Wes drives them to the police station. The drive is quiet and tense, and even Wes seems to sense that this is not the time and place for encouraging pep-talks. Blaine doesn't look at Kurt – he can't see the worried lines on his forehead right now, so he just stares out of the car window at the buildings, cars and people flashing by, preparing himself for being a bodyguard when they have to step out of the car and walk to the station. He needs to protect Kurt, needs to ignore everything else and just make sure that Kurt is okay, that Mr. Hummel is safe.

It's still hard to ignore the chants screaming in his head, the words from the letter mixing with everything else. He slipped too far, he let himself lower his defenses and care too much – and here they are, the polite anonymous fan suddenly turning aggressive, and it's all Blaine’s fault. He wanted to dance with Kurt, he kept smiling and talking and acting like himself, he forgot that he's a bodyguard, he almost kissed Kurt, he made the anonymous fan drop the kind words and politeness.

He screwed up. He cared and he failed.

Blaine wants to pull at his hair, wants to find a punching bag and hit it until his knuckles hurt, wants to scream because he's an idiot and he should have known better. But he can feel Kurt's eyes on him, and he stays still under the scrutiny, keeping his face distant and professional. What he wants to do most of all is to turn around and beg for forgiveness (it's all his fault, _all his fault_ –), promise Kurt that he won't slip anymore, that he will keep things professional.

Except begging like that wouldn't be professional. When he doesn't stay professional things like this happen, so he needs to make things right, starting now.

The police station is huge. It would be too easy to get lost in the fluorescent lights and hallways and rooms, but Wes leads them through the maze. Wes has always worked best under pressure, but Blaine has never seen him so determined, so angry almost, and there's another thing that's Blaine's fault as well. There are interviews and questions and answers, Levinson and a few other police officers writing everything down and taking the letter to evidence, and Levinson keeps suggesting preliminary precautions for Kurt ("it's just a letter and there's no actual threat in it, but I'd like to make sure...") – but for some reason Kurt keeps turning them down. He denies every proposition and looks pointedly at Blaine while doing it.

Blaine doesn't know why. He's clearly the worst bodyguard ever, and Kurt shouldn't trust him that much.

The way Kurt's staring at him is giving him some new determination though. If Kurt really does still trust him, Blaine's not going to let him down anymore. He's going to be professional, so professional that even Cooper wouldn't recognize him, he's going to suppress all the feelings he has, as hard as it is, and keep Kurt safe.

A little later, when the young police officer with a ponytail has stopped asking Blaine questions and he's just waiting for everyone else, Kurt walks to him looking annoyed and sits down next to him on the narrow bench.

"Levinson thinks that I should withdraw myself from the concert," Kurt huffs.

Blaine doesn't say anything, doesn't even turn to look at Kurt, even though it kills him not to. Professional. Professional, professional, _professional_.

"He said that since the anonymous fan obviously seems to know which events I'm attending I should skip the next one, just to be safe," Kurt continues, his voice cutting and angry.

It's Blaine's fault.

"Maybe you should," Blaine says carefully. That's what a bodyguard would say. He knows it's not what Kurt wants to hear, and he knows that Kurt wants to keep living his life, knows it because he wants the same thing. Kurt is brave and deserves the spotlight, and Blaine wants Kurt to be free. But as a bodyguard he can't say that out loud. Not when things have already gone so wrong.

Kurt turns to stare at him, looking incredulous. "What?"

Blaine keeps his eyes on the wall in front of him. "It might be for the best."

"I can't believe – Blaine." Kurt’s voice has suddenly gone inexplicably soft. "Blaine, please. Look at me."

Blaine is saved from fighting against his feelings by Wes who walks up to them and says that they can go. Kurt sighs and gets up, Blaine following him instantly, and Wes pats Blaine's shoulder when he walks past him. It's not one of Wes' patented pats this time; it's a comforting pressure on Blaine's shoulder, but it doesn't help at all.

 

\---

 

The rest of the day is completely silent. Kurt stays in his office, says that he wants to get some work done, and Blaine checks and rechecks every lock in the apartment, calls the doorman and asks him not to let anyone unfamiliar through ("I'm not an idiot, Mr. Anderson. Mr. Hummel's agent already told me about the situation."), and then just sits in the living room, staring at the book on his lap and not reading. His head feels tight in a way that doesn't promise anything good, but he needs to focus, he needs to stay alert. He needs to make amends.

After everything he owes that to Kurt.


	12. Chapter 12

Kurt is annoyed. He's not scared anymore, not really – he's just annoyed. Annoyed at his stupid anonymous fan; annoyed at Blaine who has retreated completely and hasn't smiled for more than a day; annoyed at everyone else who thinks he can't handle this or that he should cancel everything and live like a freaking hermit for the rest of his life. He's annoyed because he was questioned by the police yesterday, because he had to answer every little question when he was still feeling overwhelmed by the letter and when he could see Blaine with his tense shoulders waiting for him.

He's annoyed because Blaine is even more distant than he was in the start, because he misses Blaine even though he's in the next room.

"I need to go buy some coffee," Kurt says when he walks into the living room.

Blaine looks up from the book he was staring at and flinches a little. "W-what?"

"Coffee. We're running out of coffee and I refuse to do my work without it."

"Oh." Blaine blinks. He closes the book and then drags his hand over his face. He looks tired, Kurt notices. "Let's go then."

They go to the nearest grocery store. Everything between them has been strained ever since the letter, and Kurt really doesn't want to spend any more time than necessary outside with a sulky bodyguard when he has unfinished sketches waiting for him back home. Blaine stays close to Kurt while they're walking, his eyes glancing here and there, and when there's a group of tourists right in their path his hand lowers down to rest on the small of Kurt's back, steering him away from the group. Kurt leans a little to the touch; it feels professional and awkward, but Blaine hasn't stood this close to him since the letter and Kurt's willing to take what he can right now.

The store has bright lights, and for some reason Blaine keeps blinking his eyes against them. He doesn't say anything though, just follows Kurt to the coffee aisle and to a few other aisles as well. They're already there, so they might as well buy something else for the same effort. They don't talk, both of them going through the motions on autopilot, and for the first time in several days or even several weeks Kurt feels like he has a bodyguard following him, not Blaine.

When they get back to the apartment Blaine excuses himself and retreats to the guest room. Kurt is finally starting to make himself a cup of coffee just the way he likes it when his phone rings in his pocket. Rachel's name is flashing on the screen, so apparently the coffee has to wait.

"Hi Rachel," he answers, and before he can continue Rachel is already talking.

"Oh my god, Kurt! Are you alright? Why didn't you tell me that your anonymous stalker turned out to be really crazy and not polite after all?"

Kurt sighs. He spent an hour on the phone with his dad last night and had completely forgotten to call Rachel. "First of all, yes, I'm fine. One letter can't harm me. Secondly, if I didn't tell you, who did? And thirdly – please don't say I told you so."

"I would never." Rachel huffs dramatically. "I called Wes on business today and he let it slip. But are you really fine? You sound tired, Kurt. Are you sleeping enough?"

Kurt runs his fingers through his hair. He knows he isn't sleeping enough, but he's not going to tell that to Rachel right now. "I'm fine. Of course I was a bit scared yesterday and I spent too much time in a stuffy police station answering questions, but I feel better today. It's still terrifying and I have no idea how that anonymous fan even knew I danced with Blaine, but..."

"Wait a moment. What do you mean 'knew you danced with Blaine'?"

"Oh. I guess Wes didn't tell you that. The letter basically accused me of dancing with a dark-haired man and told me that I could do better and so on." Kurt leans against the counter as he speaks, needing the support. He's _fine_ , but repeating the screaming words from the letter makes him feel a bit uneasy. "I haven't exactly danced with that many men recently, so..."

"Kurt! That's awful! You don't think your fan was at Geoffrey's birthday party, do you?"

"I don't know. There weren't that many photographers at the party, but one of Geoffrey's old friends had gotten the exclusive rights and he posted a few pictures on his blog. I checked them, and there's at least one photo where you can barely make out me and Blaine from the crowd. I... I really don't know, Rachel."

Rachel makes a scared noise. "That's terrible. I was really hoping your fan wouldn't move from letters to actual stalking. How's... How's Blaine doing?"

Kurt looks towards the guest room door. "Not... He's not well, I suppose. The moment he read that letter he retreated completely, and he's been acting distant ever since. I don't think he's spoken more than ten words to me today." He sighs. "And I really need him to be himself right now, not just some professional bodyguard."

Rachel stays silent, obviously waiting for Kurt to continue.

"I think he blames himself for this," Kurt admits quietly after a moment.

"But that's ridiculous!" Rachel exclaims.

"I know. None of this is his fault."

"Have you..." Rachel hesitates. "Have you told him that?"

"Look, Rachel, I know what you're getting at, but I can't talk to him right now. He's completely closed off. Can you believe that he actually said that I should withdraw from the Backstage Talent concert because 'it might be for the best'?" Kurt makes exaggerated quotation marks in the air with his other hand even though Rachel can't see them. It calms him down, somewhat.

Rachel is silent for a moment. "... Maybe you should."

Kurt almost chokes on his words. " _What_?"

"I'm just saying that obviously this fan knows what events you go to. He's already made references to two of them, and maybe it would be safer for you to –"

"You've got to be kidding me," Kurt snaps. “Et tu, Brute? Et tu? Rachel, you know how much I've been waiting for this concert! I'm not going to back off because of some stupid anonymous fan! I'm not going to give up!"

"Kurt, I'm just saying that..."

"No." Kurt shakes his head. "You know what, I'm not going to listen to this speech for the tenth time. I'll call you later, Rachel."

"Kurt, please –"

Kurt hangs up. It's mean and childish, but it makes him feel accomplished for some weird reason. It doesn't help much though. He's still frustrated and annoyed and _pissed off_ , and he really just wants to yell at somebody right now because fuck, when did his life turn into this mess? He's not going to skip the concert – costume design may be his passion, but he still loves singing and performing as well, and he hasn't gotten the chance to do that in a long time. He's not going to hide, not anymore.

He needs to let his anger out. He needs to yell at somebody. Everyone is treating him like he's incapable of making his own decisions, and Kurt hates not being in control, he hates making people worry about him, he hates how tangled up everything is right now. Maybe he's been too soft on Blaine for these last few days. Maybe he needs to take Rachel's original advice and tell Blaine how he feels, right now.

Sometimes it really is convenient that his bodyguard – god, he hates that word even more today – is currently living in his guest room.

Before Kurt knows it he's marching up to the guest room door and wrenching it open, ready to take out his frustration on Blaine. He knows it's wrong and stupid, but he's too angry to care right now, and after all, this is partly Blaine's fault. He's the one who supported the idea of withdrawing from the concert, the one who has been so annoyingly professional.

The guest room is dark for some reason, and without even stopping to think about it Kurt flicks the light switch on, opening his mouth to let everything out – when a pained whimper stops him.

Blaine is sitting cross-legged on the bed, shoulders hunched and the heels of his hands pressed tightly against his eyes. He looks smaller than usual, dressed in a grey t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and his curly hair is a wild mess.

"Blaine?" Kurt asks, confused. The anger inside him deflates in an instant, immediately replaced by worry.

"T-the lights..." Blaine stammers, hunching his shoulder even more. Kurt feels even more confused. He's never heard Blaine stammer like this. "P-please."

The words take a while to register in Kurt's mind, but then he quickly switches the light switch back off. He takes a few tentative steps towards Blaine, his own frustration completely drowned by how different and small and hurt Blaine looks, how... not-Blaine.

Blaine doesn't move, doesn't react in any way, so Kurt takes a few steps more until he's standing right next to the bed. He crouches down, trying to see Blaine's face, but Blaine's hands are still pressed to his eye-sockets, hiding most of his face. Kurt can only make out a few pained lines on his forehead and the tightness around his mouth. There are tiny tremors running through his back, and for a moment Kurt thinks that Blaine's going to cry, and oh god, he's so not ready for something like that right now.

"Migraine," Blaine croaks out silently, still not moving. "Haven't had one in months. Haven't had one this bad in years."

Kurt winces in sympathy – he doesn't get migraines himself, but he knows his fair share of actors and actresses who are often hiding in their dark dressing rooms after a show, after the blinding stage lights have finally stopped shining on their faces. He wants to reach out and rub Blaine's shoulder comfortingly, but something stops him – perhaps it's the sharp contrast between Bodyguard-Blaine from earlier today and this Blaine who's sitting in a dark room looking like he's the one who needs protecting. It's the contrast that also reminds Kurt that Bodyguard-Blaine would probably be horribly ashamed and horrified if his client would comfort him right now or even see him like this.

"You should probably leave me alone," Blaine mutters, proving Kurt's thoughts to be correct. "I'll be fine in a few hours, and I..." Blaine flinches, as if the pain is getting worse. "The doors and windows are all locked, so you should be safe here, and if someone does come in, I can still protect you."

Blaine's voice is muffled and weak, as if he's trying not to aggravate the headache, and Kurt feels something tighten in his chest, imagining this Blaine ( _hurt, small, hunched over_ ) trying to protect him. Kurt can't help it – he likes to take care of people, especially the people he cares about, and he does care about Blaine.

He stands up quietly, but instead of leaving the room he walks to the window and pulls the curtains more tightly closed until the room is completely dark. He then walks back to the bed and sits down carefully on its edge, keeping a safe distance between himself and Blaine, even though his hand still itches to touch him, comfort him somehow. Blaine has always comforted him, and Kurt almost feels sick when he realizes that he was about to yell at the man who has done nothing to deserve it. Who probably has his own reasons for being so distant.

"Do you need something?" he whispers gently, and wow, wasn't he seething with anger just a few minutes ago? "Painkillers? Coffee?"

Blaine starts to shake his head but stops abruptly. "I already took a painkiller. It should take effect any minute now. I just... I just need to stay here for a while."

Blaine's starting to sound frustrated, and Kurt feels confused again.

"I can still protect you, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't go out right now because I will follow you, it's my job, and then I'll probably pass out and _then_ I won't be able to protect you from anyone and something might happen and I'll... I'll fail. Again. I don't want to fail anymore. I don't want to fail you, I don't, Kurt, I really don't." Blaine's babbling by now, his voice still muffled and croaky, and it breaks completely on Kurt’s name.

To hell with caution, Kurt thinks and puts his hand gently on Blaine's shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb. "Shh, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere today, okay? I can stay right here. If someone actually gets through the doorman and the elevator and the lock on my front door and tries to hurt me they'll have to come to this room and fight you on your own terms."

The thought of someone breaking into his apartment sounds ridiculous, but Blaine seems to think it's a real possibility right now. Perhaps it's just the migraine talking. Kurt really has nowhere to be today, not anymore; he was going to finish some sketches and maybe catch up on some reading, so staying in is not a problem.

"O-okay." Blaine's shoulder relaxes slightly under Kurt's hand and he slowly lowers his hands from his eyes, squinting in the dark room. His eyes look tired and there's still a certain tightness over his features, but at least the tiny tremors have disappeared.

"You should take a nap," Kurt says and gives Blaine his best comforting smile.

"No, I can't, I have to –" Blaine starts anxiously, his shoulder suddenly tensing again.

"Didn't you hear me?" Kurt asks, squeezing Blaine's shoulder. "I'm staying right here. You can take a nap, and if something happens I swear I'll scream so loudly and so high that you'll wake up and be so irritated that you'll immediately punch anyone who's trying to hurt me."

Blaine huffs at his comment, his eyes wobbly and shining with something wet. Kurt grins back and pushes Blaine's shoulder gently towards the bed until Blaine gives up and complies, curling up on the bed and closing his eyes with a tired sigh. Kurt drapes a blanket carefully over him, smiling when Blaine snuggles into it, the tight lines on his forehead softening and his curls falling over his forehead.

Kurt is moving towards the chair next to the bed when he hears Blaine's voice underneath the blanket. "Do not leave this room. That's an order."

He sounds a bit like Blaine again, a bit silly, and Kurt can't help chuckling. "Yes sir," he replies, picking up a notepad from the table and sitting down.

Blaine's already snoring gently, the lines completely gone from his face, when Kurt suddenly realizes that Blaine had called him by his first name.

 

\---

 

When Blaine wakes up everything is quiet and dark around him and there's a blanket draped carefully over his body. He feels a little disoriented, like he does every time he sleeps in the middle of the day, but at least his head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore.

He hasn't slept this well in ages. He rubs his eyes and turns his head to see Kurt sitting next to his bed, looking at him with a weird expression. There's a notepad in his hands, and Blaine can see flowing lines and soft shadows, the beginnings of an outfit.

"Hi," Kurt whispers.

Blaine shakes his head as he slowly sits up. "No need to whisper, the migraine's gone. How long..." He stops to yawn before continuing. "How long was I asleep?"

"Oh, just a few hours, I think. I didn't really pay attention to time." Kurt blushes, and it's the blush that reminds Blaine of where he is, who he's talking to, and he feels his shoulders stiffen.

Kurt suddenly reaches out his hand but stops before he touches Blaine's shoulder, his hand falling down awkwardly. "I... I was going to make some coffee. Do you want some?"

Blaine starts folding the blanket carefully, trying to keep his eyes away from Kurt, away from the way Kurt's eyes are following his every move. Great, now he made their professional relationship even more awkward, this time with his stupid migraine and his stupid babbling. "Sure, Mr. Hummel, let me just..."

"Blaine."

The tone of Kurt's voice makes Blaine look up. Kurt's eyes are steady and he's staring at Blaine like he wants to make a point.

"I'm going to make some coffee. Just... Come with me, okay? We need to talk."

Kurt doesn't wait for Blaine to answer, just flips his notepad closed and walks out of the room. Blaine sighs and rubs his eyes once more. He has enough experience with relationships – both professional and unprofessional – to know that the words 'we need to talk' always mean something unpleasant. It's like a stupid cliché. He gets up anyways, following Kurt into the kitchen.

Kurt gestures for him to sit, so he does, looking out of the kitchen window. After a few sunnier days it's raining again, big droplets running down the window and making patterns on the glass. Blaine's mind is a litany of _I failed once again I made this awkward he's going to fire me isn't he fuck_ – he doesn't usually swear out loud, but his mind has definitely grown a dirty mouth of its own during the years – and he tries to ignore it, focusing on his temples instead. His head might not hurt anymore, but the muscles in his temples still feel tight, and he massages them slowly with his fingers.

"Are you sure the headache is gone?" Kurt asks when he places a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Yeah." Blaine nods his thanks and takes the cup. "A migraine that bad just leaves my head feeling a little stuffy. But I'm fine."

Kurt sits down opposite him, nursing his own cup between his hands. Blaine takes a sip of his coffee and is surprised to notice that it's just the way he likes it. He had memorized the way Kurt drinks his coffee only after a few days (it's just something he does, he had tried telling himself – he knows Wes' coffee order and Cooper's as well, so it's only natural to know Kurt's), but he had never known that Kurt had done the same. It's... weird, but in a good way.

"Look, Blaine..." Kurt starts.

"Hey, I get it," Blaine interrupts, wanting to let Kurt know how he feels before getting fired. He's 85 % sure he'll get fired. Okay, maybe 95 %. "I know that a bodyguard who first ignores all professionalism and manages to aggravate your anonymous stalker and then spends most of the day in a dark room fighting off a migraine isn't exactly useful or trustworthy. Especially when said bodyguard completely loses the filter between his brain and his mouth during that migraine, and I'm –"

"Wait." Kurt puts his cup down and stares at Blaine like he's suddenly grown an extra head. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I was just going to say that I'm sorry, so sorry for everything and that if you want to hire another bodyguard after today, Mr. Hummel, I completely understand."

Kurt laughs, actually laughs at him right then, and Blaine doesn't know what to think.

"You... You thought I was going to fire you?" Kurt manages to gasp out, but when Blaine just nods, his laughter immediately dies out. "No, _Blaine_ , that's not... I don't want to fire you, absolutely not. Not unless you yourself want to leave?"

"No!" Blaine exclaims, a bit too quickly. He can feel himself blushing, but Kurt just smiles.

"Good. I didn't want to talk to you about something like that. Although now that I think about it, 'we need to talk' isn't probably the most reassuring thing to say." Kurt taps his chin with his index finger. "Anyways. What I actually wanted to talk to you about is that... You're a good bodyguard, Blaine, don't get me wrong, you're great, but I think this whole situation would go a lot better if you – if we trusted each other. We spend pretty much every hour of every day together, in each other's personal space, and it's..." He sighs, obviously stopping to think his next words for a moment. "It's hard for me to have someone constantly following me if I don't know practically anything about them. If I don't trust them."

"You don't trust me?" Blaine asks carefully.

"Oh, I trust you to keep me safe and to protect me, but I would like to trust you on a personal level as well. I'd like you to trust me." Kurt fiddles with his coffee cup, suddenly looking nervous. "I... I don't know how long we're going to be stuck together, but it's already been several weeks and I don't want to feel awkward or uncomfortable around you anymore. I want to be your friend, if that's okay with you, I want you to call me Kurt and I want you to talk to me and be yourself around me and just be the Blaine I saw standing in my hallway all those weeks ago, smiling and looking comfortable with his surroundings. The... The Blaine you almost were before the latest letter."

Blaine feels something tighten in his chest. He doesn't know if it's fear or affection, if it's a good feeling or a bad feeling – it's something in between, something bittersweet, and he knows his annoyingly honest face is probably showing all of his feelings to Kurt right now. Hopefully Kurt isn't as good at reading them as Cooper is.

Kurt tilts his head. "Blaine? Please say something. I feel like I just poured an awful amount of word vomit on you."

Blaine takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. "No, I just... I don't know if I can be both – a good bodyguard and myself. Like one of them is bound to distract the other."

"You did pretty well at Geoffrey's birthday party," Kurt says with a small shrug. "I kept wondering why you seemed so different that day, why your face looked so expressive and honest, but then I realized that it was just... you being you. You being Blaine, not just Bodyguard-Blaine. But you were still able to steer me away from crowds and protect me. You've been an excellent bodyguard so far. I really mean that, Blaine."

"But I..." Blaine starts, but Kurt interrupts him.

"No, stop it. None of this anonymous fan business is your fault. It's that stupid fan's fault and that's it. I loved how you opened up after that karaoke night and I kept hoping you'd open up even more. And don't tell me that you weren't being a good bodyguard then, because you were. You gave quite convincing commands today as well, even though you were lying on a bed with a ridiculously fuzzy blanket draped over you."

Kurt grins, and the tight feeling in Blaine's chest disappears. He feels like his heart is expanding, like he's feeling too much for the first time in a long while. He knows his own history with caring too much, but he knows Kurt is right as well – he has been himself every once in a while, but he's also been keeping Kurt safe. Kurt is still himself, Kurt is still smiling and doing his job. Blaine has succeeded so far, even if he still thinks the latest letter was at least partly his fault.

It's almost as if being a bodyguard is a role for him, in a way that Dalton-Blaine had been. They're both parts of him, parts of his personality, but they're not Blaine as a whole. Dalton-Blaine was confident and excited, jumping on furniture, singing Top 40 hits and giving advice to everyone that asked for it; and god, some of his advice was horrible. Bodyguard-Blaine, on the other hand, is guarded, distant and professional, not smiling when there's work to do and taking possible threats very seriously. But then again both Dalton-Blaine and Bodyguard-Blaine had their slip-ups. Sebastian Smythe and his overly-confident suggestions made Dalton-Blaine lose his own confidence for a moment, and Kurt Hummel sitting alone in a ballroom full of dancing people made Bodyguard-Blaine let down all his guards.

Perhaps Blaine's not just one of those persons. Perhaps he's the sum of his different personalities, a combination of everything he has been and everything he is now, of distractions and good intentions and flaws. Letting one personality control the others doesn't seem fair, not to himself and not to Kurt. Kurt, who says he needs to trust him, who a few hours ago reached out his hand in a similar way that he himself had done in the ballroom. Both happened in dark rooms, but when Blaine reached out the room was full of people and music, sounds and movement – when Kurt reached out the room was quiet and empty, filled with shadows and silence.

Kurt is still staring at him, expecting an answer. When Blaine looks back, Kurt doesn't avert his eyes.

"I'm not asking you to change completely," Kurt says softly. "I would never ask that. I just want – I need a bodyguard who's being himself. Who doesn't treat me like I’m just a job."

Blaine flinches. He'd never even thought about what his distance might feel like to Kurt. He'd never even considered that it might make Kurt uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he hastens to say. "I was being too professional and too distant because I thought that it would work."

Kurt smiles. "It might work with other clients, but I've always been a bit more high-maintenance."

"But I'm willing to try," Blaine continues. "You're right. It has been hard, trying not to be too much like myself, but I honestly did it because I wanted to protect you." He doesn't say that he was also protecting himself, protecting his feelings, because it hasn't worked – Kurt has still been himself, a gorgeous man whose personality almost blinds Blaine, and it just doesn't work. No matter how hard he tries his hands still twitch when Kurt looks sad and he still feels his lips tug upwards when Kurt smiles. Yes, he has failed when he has felt too much in the past, but closing himself off doesn't seem to be working either. Maybe honesty will.

He thinks about Dalton-Blaine and what he said to himself every time he felt small and unsure after Sadie Hawkins. _Courage_. "I don't... Caring hasn't really worked for me in the past. And I care about you, I really do, and I thought that maybe..." Kurt is suddenly staring at him with wide eyes, but Blaine pushes on. "I thought that I would fail if I let you see that I care. Like I couldn't keep you safe if I cared about you."

"Blaine..." Kurt's eyes are impossibly gentle. "I care about you as well. I want us to be friends and I want you to feel like you can talk to me as openly as I talk to you. And I'm not asking all of this... I'm not asking you to be yourself for me – I honestly think it would be better for you as well. At the very least it might prevent future migraine attacks."

Blaine snorts. "Okay. I can... I can try."

"Just don't try too hard," Kurt teases, but his eyes stay serious, as if he's certain that Blaine won't fail. As if he trusts Blaine that much, as if he wants to help Blaine, and Blaine has to wonder when this relationship turned into both of them protecting each other, not just Blaine protecting Kurt.

"I won't, Kurt. I want us to be friends as well," Blaine says and smiles, all himself and with no distance. It probably looks a bit silly, all things considering.

The blinding smile Kurt gives him in return makes Blaine think that he still did the right thing.


	13. Chapter 13

They promise each other to take things slowly and naturally, to let everything move at its own pace. Then they promptly spend the rest of the evening talking about their favorite foods and colors (Kurt likes all the colors, especially the ones that are in fashion; Blaine likes red and green and grey), about the movies they've seen, about the TV shows they like and the music they listen to. They're slowly getting to know each other, as if it was the first time they met, but it's still different. When Kurt mentions that he loves old Broadway songs and The Beatles, Blaine nods and says, "I've noticed"; when Blaine says that he has a soft spot for really trashy reality shows, Kurt laughs and says, "yeah, I've seen your face when the _Bachelorette_ is on". Both of them have already spent time noticing these little things during the last few weeks, and Kurt can feel his own cheeks burning with embarrassment. Blaine's cheeks are bright as well, but he's smiling goofily, so maybe it's all okay.

When Kurt is lying on his bed that night he feels happier than he has in months, happy for a reason he's never been happy before. Stupid anonymous fan is completely forgotten for a moment, and he's just excited about tomorrow, about the new chances to see Blaine's smile and to hear him talk. He really does like Blaine, even more so now that the curtain's completely gone and he can see Blaine genuinely. The change in Blaine had been almost instant, like a weight lifted from his shoulders, and Kurt can't believe Rachel was actually right, that all he had to do was open his mouth and be honest.

He also can't believe that he's this happy and he still can't sleep.

He tosses and turns, stares at the ceiling, thinks about every outfit he's ever designed, thinks about the most boring things he can come up with (Mr. Schuester's vest collection and monotonous documentaries among other things), but he still can't fall asleep. He hasn't slept well ever since this anonymous fan business started. He's slept a few hours here and there, enough to keep him going and to stay alert during the day, but he still has trouble falling asleep, trouble getting a whole night of sleep without interruptions.

Kurt turns over on his back and groans. It's frustrating. He knows he's safe, knows that Blaine is sleeping in the next room and that his apartment is secure. He has nothing to worry about, but when the apartment is silent and dark around him he can hear his own thoughts going around too loudly inside his head, the words from the letters taunting him. Everything sounds louder in the darkness, and Kurt wishes he could just cover his ears and sleep.

God, he can't even remember the last time he slept the whole night through.

Wait. Actually he can. It was that awkward night after the karaoke bar when he was drunk and spent the whole night cuddling Blaine. Kurt huffs. Maybe he should find the bottle of wine he has in the kitchen and drink it all in one go to get some sleep... Except he also slept quite well that night he woke up on his office couch after Blaine found him drooling over his sketches. Two nights of good sleep in the last few weeks, and what do those two nights have in common?

Blaine.

Kurt sits up on his bed. It isn't exactly taking things slow, he knows that, but just being in the same room with Blaine has always managed to calm him down. And it would be just sleeping! Nothing more. He doesn't even expect anything more to happen. Besides, Blaine might have already fallen asleep (he probably has, after that migraine), and Kurt certainly wouldn't have the heart to wake him and would immediately return to his own room if Blaine was sleeping. So he's just going to... check up on Blaine. That's all. If he's hoping that Blaine's awake as well and that he can crash on the comfortable guest room chair tonight, that's honestly all there is to it.

Kurt gets up, makes sure he looks decent and then pads quietly through the dark hallway to the guest room. To Blaine's room, he corrects himself. The door is ajar, and Kurt stops in the doorway. Blaine's sitting on his bed, his back against the headboard and a book on his lap.

"Can't sleep?" Kurt asks quietly.

Blaine lifts his head and smiles a little when he sees Kurt. It's strange, the way Blaine has always smiled when he has met Kurt's eyes after their conversation. Strange but nice.

"Yeah. I thought reading would help but so far it hasn't." Blaine closes the book and sets it aside.

Kurt bites his lip. "So... I know we promised to try being honest with each other from now on, and I have to confess something."

Blaine raises his eyebrows. "What is it?"

"I haven't slept properly ever since that first letter came to my address."

Blaine looks surprised at first, but then his face softens. "Then I have to confess something as well: Me neither."

Kurt frowns. "Wait, really? You don't have to say that just to make me feel better about my own sleep deprivation."

Blaine laughs quietly. "No, I'm being honest. Today was the first time I slept more than two hours straight."

"Oh my god, Blaine!" Kurt exclaims. He steps into the room, remembering the dark circles he's seen under Blaine's eyes for days, the way Blaine looks in the mornings, and almost slaps himself for not realizing anything sooner. "You really haven't slept properly for _weeks_? How's that possible?"

Blaine shrugs, obviously trying to play it down. "I have an overactive imagination? And I've always had trouble sleeping when I'm... stressed."

"No wonder you got a migraine," Kurt mutters. "Why didn't you say anything to me earlier?"

"Why didn't you say anything about your own sleeping problems?" Blaine counters.

Kurt's shoulders fall down. Blaine's right. They've both been hiding things from each other, trying to be strong on their own even though they're in this situation together.

"You're right. Sorry," he says and then takes a deep breath. "While we're being honest I have another confession to make as well. I... Um. This is a little embarrassing." He looks at Blaine, half-expecting to see a teasing smile, but Blaine's eyes are calm and understanding, waiting for him to finish without any judgement. "I've had two nights of really good sleep during these weeks."

Blaine tilts his head. "Two nights? I'm not sure I..."

"The first one was when you moved me on the couch," Kurt goes on, while he still has the courage to say it all, "and the second one was that night I was drunk and... cuddled you." Blaine still looks a little confused, so Kurt takes a deep breath and explains the point. "Those two nights have one thing in common. You."

Blaine frowns. "So you..."

"I sleep better when you're near me, as weird as it sounds. Sorry."

"No, no need to be sorry," Blaine says. "I get it. I'm the one protecting you, after all."

 _You're more than that_ , Kurt wants to say, but that's a whole other level of honesty and he's not sure if he's ready for that yet. "So... I was thinking I could sleep here tonight. If that's alright with you."

"Oh." Blaine’s eyes widen but his calming smile stays in place. "Um. Sure. Why not."

The anxious weight over his chest falls away, and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh god, _thank you_. I don't even know if this will work, but I've tried pretty much everything else and I really need to sleep if I want to finish those sketches someday." He takes an extra pillow from the closet and moves towards the chair next to the bed.

"Kurt."

Blaine's voice stops him. He's heard Blaine say his first name a few times now, but it still sounds new and exhilarating, the way Blaine stretches the vowel and how sharp yet soft the last sound is. It sounds so much better than Mr. Hummel, and it makes Kurt stop for a moment every time.

"You can't sleep on that chair, Kurt. That's just ridiculous," Blaine says when Kurt turns to look at him.

"Well where then..." Kurt starts, but Blaine's already scooting over, moving to the other side of the double-sized bed and making more room for Kurt. Kurt's breath catches in his throat.

"If you sleep on that chair you'll have a terrible crick in your neck tomorrow and then you can forget about finishing those sketches," Blaine explains while rearranging the pillows on his bed.

His bed. On which he thinks Kurt should sleep. Oh god.

Blaine stops when he raises his head and sees the look on Kurt's face. His hands immediately reach out in a calming motion. "I mean... It would just be more comfortable for you and I would naturally stay on the other side of the bed, just sleeping, but if the thought of sharing a bed with me makes you uncomfortable you can take the bed and I'll go sleep on the..."

Kurt shakes his head. "No, Blaine, it's... It's fine. It's better than fine, really. I trust you."

"Didn't you say that you only trust me professionally just a few hours ago?" Blaine grins.

Kurt blushes. "That was then, okay?" It’s been almost a year since he last shared a bed with someone, but the guest room bed is large and there's more than enough room for both of them. Besides, just knowing that Blaine would be sleeping right next to him, within his reach, is making Kurt feel calmer than he has for several nights.

"This is sort of professional, though," Blaine adds as an after-thought. "With you sleeping here I can be sure that you're safe during the night and I don't have to imagine all these horrible things."

Kurt climbs on the bed and looks at Blaine. "Really? Are those the thoughts that have been keeping you up at night?"

"Oh." Blaine scrunches up his face. "Yes?"

Kurt smiles. "Same here." He flops down on the bed and pulls the comforter over himself. There are several inches between them, but Blaine's weight on the other side of the bed is an unexpected comfort.

"You're sure this is alright?" Blaine asks one more time.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now let me try and catch some sleep."

Blaine laughs softly and reaches out to turn off the small reading lamp over the headboard. The room falls into darkness and Kurt can hear Blaine rustling for a moment, snuggling closer to his own pillow, until he sighs contently.

"Goodnight, Kurt."

Kurt smiles and closes his eyes. "Goodnight, Blaine."

 

\---

 

It's warm when he wakes up. Warmer than usually. Kurt has always, ever since he can remember, been the person who gets cold ridiculously easily, so he has learned to sleep with a thick comforter or two. It's not unusual for him to wake up in a cocoon of warmth, buried under a mountain of blankets and pillows – but this is different. This warmth feels different. Heavier.

Kurt snuggles closer to the warmth, still not completely awake. Something heavy is draped over his chest, but the weight isn't suffocating or too much. It's perfect, and Kurt sighs happily and moves his own hand over the weight. It feels suspiciously like a warm arm. A warm, long arm with fine hairs that tickle his fingers.

Someone mumbles next to him, and Kurt's eyes snap open.

Blaine is the warmth next to him. Blaine, who has moved closer to him during the night, who has cuddled up to Kurt with his arm flung over Kurt's chest and who is using Kurt's shoulder as a pillow. Blaine, whose face is so close that Kurt could count the impossibly long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. Blaine, whose leg is twitching next to Kurt's hip.

Kurt tenses. Oh my god. What is he supposed to do now? What is it with him and Blaine – they seem to attract awkward situations every time they're near each other at night, and Kurt really doesn't want to have another uncomfortable discussion about the boundaries of their relationship, not when he's feeling so rested and comfortable and good.

... Rested?

Kurt turns his head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's twenty minutes over nine in the morning. He can't remember when he fell asleep, but it was quite soon after he wished Blaine goodnight. He's apparently slept through the whole night for the first time in weeks, and his head feels clearer, his whole body more refreshed than it has in, well, weeks.

Kurt turns back to look at the man lying next to him. Blaine is snuffling softly, the movements of his eyelids almost unnoticeable. He looks calm and content in a way Kurt hasn't seen before, and Kurt has to stop for a moment just to stare at him. He knows he's verging on creepy right now, but he hasn't woken up with a gorgeous man curled up next to him in a long time, never with a man as gorgeous as Blaine, and he deserves to linger for a while longer.

Maybe this isn't awkward after all. It doesn't feel awkward to Kurt. He's had sleepovers with his friends before, has woken up with either Rachel or Mercedes or both of them curled up next to him several times, and this... This is intimate and not at all professional, but at the same time it's impossibly natural: the way Blaine's head fits against the curve of his neck, the way his fingers are splayed over his ribs. Blaine fits next to him, and the thought makes something inside Kurt shiver.

Kurt's bladder is slowly starting to make its presence known, so he shifts closer to the edge of the bed. Blaine makes a small noise of complaint, clinging even closer to Kurt, and Kurt's heart melts. He wishes he could just stay here, in this perfect moment. The cold sunlight is streaming into the room from the small crack between the curtains, and there are minuscule flecks of dust drifting across the beam of light. The apartment is completely quiet around them, the voices of the city muffled by the nine floors between the street and Kurt's apartment. Blaine is soft and warm against him, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of Kurt's neck.

Kurt wishes he could stay here forever. Could wake up next to Blaine for the rest of his life.

The thought startles him. He's known Blaine for a few weeks, most of which Blaine has spent being distant and detached. They've only officially been friends for less than a day, and there are still so many things Kurt doesn't know about Blaine – why he dropped out of college, what he wants to do with his life, what his family is like, what made him want to study teaching. But Kurt has already gotten used to Blaine's presence in his life. He can't imagine what it will be like when this anonymous fan mess is over and Blaine goes back to his own life in Los Angeles or wherever it is that he wants to go. Just the idea of the apartment being empty again, void of Blaine's books and the sound of his feet against the floor makes Kurt cling to Blaine a bit tighter.

He doesn't know what this feeling is, doesn't understand it, doesn't comprehend the effect Blaine has on him. It almost scares him. He's Kurt Hummel, an independent soul who doesn't trust people easily, who stays guarded around strangers and who has loved living on his own. Blaine hasn't done almost anything, but still he has managed to make Kurt realize how lonely he's been, how empty his apartment has been and how much like an outsider he feels at every event he goes to, even if he's a part of the Broadway world now. He has everything he's ever dreamed of, but somehow Blaine has managed to remind him how there's still been something ( _someone_ ) missing.

His stomach growls almost painfully after a few minutes, and reluctantly Kurt moves Blaine's head to rest against the pillow and lifts his arm from his chest. A questioning noise makes its way through Blaine's lips, but he doesn't wake up, just curls up deeper into the comforter. His short curls have fallen over his forehead, and Kurt brushes them away, letting his fingers linger for a moment longer. A small smile rises to Blaine's lips at the touch, and Kurt smiles as well before he gets up and with a final glance to Blaine's sleeping form walks out of the room.

 

\---

 

Blaine wakes up to the feeling of drool dripping down his chin. It's disgusting. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and groans. It's too hot under all the blankets, too suffocating, and he kicks the comforter away, straightening his legs and stretching his arms over his head until he hears a few satisfying pops from his joints and bones.

The room is yellow around him, the sunlight shining brightly through the curtains, and Blaine can still taste sleep in his mouth. He actually slept the whole night through, without any interrupting thoughts or overactive visions. It's easy to remember and understand why he'd finally slept when he can still see the imprint Kurt's head has left on the pillow when he turns his head. Kurt himself is nowhere to be seen, but Blaine can hear silent clangs from the kitchen, the sounds of someone making breakfast.

Blaine flops back down on the bed and stares at the patterns the sunlight is making on the walls. He feels better than he has for days. More like himself, more sure of himself. He still thinks that the latest letter was at least partly his fault, but he doesn't think he should try to be so distant anymore. On the contrary – he actually regrets not being honest from the get-go. It could have saved both him and Kurt a lot of trouble judging from the way Kurt's been smiling for the past day, how safe he has looked like, and how safe Blaine has felt.

Blaine doesn't have the best history with caring too much. There have been too many instances in his past when caring or feeling too much has made him fail, has hurt him somehow. He could probably blame all his failures on it, and it's always been hard for him to open up completely, to let other people see how he really feels. Blaine knows it, has always known it, but that doesn't mean he's learned how to deal with it. He still distances himself, even from people he knows well, from people he trusts. All of them – his parents, Cooper, Wes, some of his other friends – have tried to draw him out several times, failing more often than succeeding.

But there's something about Kurt that makes him succeed almost every time. Blaine feels more like himself around Kurt, feels like he can be himself, like he can let his emotions show. That's what scared him in the first place, the way Kurt made him immediately feel as if he could bare everything, let all of his ugly flaws and failures show. It definitely constituted as feeling too much, and that's the reason he tried to stay professional. To not let Kurt become another failure. To keep Kurt safe, and to protect himself from another train wreck.

It just didn't work with Kurt. Blaine's body and mind kept betraying him whenever Kurt looked sad, whenever Kurt asked him something, whenever Kurt was just in the same room with him. He started slipping more and more, and here they are now.

To his surprise Blaine realizes that he doesn't actually mind being here.

He doesn't think he's ever been in love before – he thought that he was, once or twice, but isn't love supposed to be a mutual feeling? He doesn't have much experience from love, but Blaine still knows that if he let himself, he could fall in love with Kurt. With Kurt's hair that always looks impeccable, with the way his eyes shine when he talks about costume design or Broadway, with the way he blushes when someone compliments him, with the way he looks at Blaine in just the right way in every situation.

But even if Blaine has decided to be himself from now on, for Kurt's sake and because Kurt asked him to and because he does actually agree with him, Kurt is still his client. Falling in love with the person you're supposed to protect is a bit too much. It's too much honesty, too many possibilities to screw things up and make everything messy. Blaine doesn't know what he exactly feels towards Kurt, not yet, but at least he has plenty of time to find out. Kurt wants him to stay, and Blaine himself doesn't really want to go either.

He looks around the room and realizes that he's actually lying on Kurt's side of the bed, or rather on the side Kurt was sleeping on. It's not like they have official sides. (Yet. Maybe. What on earth is he thinking about? Obviously sleeping makes his brain jump to conclusions.) Blaine is a cuddler, all of his previous boyfriends can attest to that. Judging from the way he's lying across the bed he's probably been cuddling Kurt while they were sleeping, which could make things awkward. But then again, Kurt cuddled him when he was drunk, and they've also avoided all awkwardness for almost a whole day now. Maybe things will work out.

Blaine is an optimist most of the time, especially when he's feeling good. And right now he is. He gets up from the bed, changes into a clean shirt because the one he was sleeping in has drool on it, and pads to the hallway with a yawn, his bare feet slapping against the floor.

Kurt looks up from his breakfast when Blaine shuffles into the kitchen. He doesn't look uncomfortable, not at all, and Blaine inwardly sighs in relief. Kurt nods at him, but then his eyes travel to Blaine's chest and he's starts to grin a little. Blaine self-consciously glances at his shirt, quirking an eyebrow at Kurt. There's no drool on this one, so why would it catch Kurt's attention?

"Why do you have a shirt like that? Don't tell me you have all those ads recorded somewhere and you watch them twenty times a day?" Kurt teases.

Blaine looks down at his shirt again and realizes it has _FREE CREDIT RATING TODAY DOT COM_ written in big, red letters across his chest. "Oh, no, nothing like that. My brother gave it to me."

"Why would your brother give you a..."

"Uh, because he was in the ads?" Blaine snags an apple from the bowl on the counter.

Kurt looks confused, until his eyes widen in understanding. "Oh god. Anderson. Blaine Anderson. Is Cooper Anderson your _brother_?"

Blaine takes a bite from the apple and shrugs nonchalantly.

"Oh my god." Kurt starts to giggle, high and musical, and Blaine thinks it must be the most adorable thing he has ever heard. "Oh god, this is priceless. Cooper Anderson is your _brother_! I had the biggest crush on him when I was in high school. The jingle from those commercials was actually my ringtone for months! Oh god!"

Something deflates inside of Blaine. Cooper – handsome, tall and charming Cooper – always manages to win somehow, even if he's on the other side of the country. Blaine knows he's being ridiculous and petty and jealous for no reason, knows that Cooper has his own demons and that good looks haven't always been a blessing to him. Sometimes the old sibling rivalry still manages to raise its ugly head.

"Are you two close?" Kurt asks, still smiling widely.

Blaine startles from his thoughts. "Oh, I'd say we are. The age difference between us is quite big and we weren't close at all when we were younger, but now... He's like a friend to me, in some ways. I was actually living with him before I came here."

"I know what you mean," Kurt says and points at him with his spoon. "Me and my brother Finn – or well, technically he's my step-brother, but anyway – we were at each other's throats all the time when we were younger. Our relationship is much better now that we're both grown up. I know he still blames himself for some of the stuff that happened in high school, but..."

"What stuff? You said something at the party, but..." Blaine starts and then almost slaps himself. "I'm sorry, it's of course none of my business –"

"It's okay, Blaine." Kurt smiles. "Honesty, remember?" He takes a breath. "Well, like I said at the party, I was bullied a lot in high school. Finn and all my other friends tried to protect me, but naturally they couldn't help me all the time." When he sees Blaine's sad expression, he continues quickly, clearly ignoring certain things in his story. "But then during junior year my biggest bully changed schools and things calmed down. It was still Lima, Ohio, full of homophobes and prejudice, but it got better."

Blaine looks down. "I was... I was bullied as well. Before I transferred to Dalton. It was actually the reason I transferred."

The following silence feels awkward, both of them thinking about their own experiences. Kurt is staring at his cereal with a distant look in his eyes, so Blaine tries to desperately steer the conversation back to a more neutral topic.

"We didn't talk properly for years when I was younger, Cooper and me," he says. "But then he – he showed up during my junior year, waltzed into Dalton like he owned the whole place and told the headmaster that he was going to give an acting master class to everyone interested." Blaine laughs at the memory. "In the end I had to convince the Warblers to attend the class so at least someone would be there. It was... interesting, to say the least."

"I can imagine. Sort of. He always seemed a bit crazy in those commercials." Kurt's staring at him with a soft expression, and Blaine wants to give himself a high-five for making the distance disappear from Kurt's eyes.

"After the class he sort of cornered me and we... We had a long talk about everything." Blaine remembers yelling at Cooper in Dalton's common room until his voice was hoarse, until Coop walked across the room and pulled him into a tight hug. He remembers Cooper repeating over and over again how sorry he was for everything and himself clinging to Cooper's leather jacket because he'd finally gotten his brother back. "We worked out all our issues after that, and now he's honestly the best brother I could ever ask for. He has a huge ego and he's completely ridiculous, but he's my brother."

Kurt smiles. "I get that. Finn is completely clueless when it comes to some things and he talks before he thinks way too often, but like you said, he's my brother."

Blaine chews on his apple for a moment. The conversation is at a pause, so now's the best time to say it. "Look, Kurt... I think I might have, um, cuddled you last night."

Kurt widens his eyes. "You don't say. I thought it was just a really heavy pillow lying against my shoulder."

Blaine giggles. Legitimately giggles. What has he turned into? A ridiculous teenager? He coughs awkwardly to clear his throat. "So... everything's fine?"

"Blaine. Considering the fact that I was the first one to cuddle you all those days ago and that I actually slept really well last night, everything is better than fine." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Unless you didn't sleep well, but you were snoring against my shoulder so I suppose that's not really an option?"

"No, I slept... really well. I haven't slept that well in weeks. Huh." Blaine blinks. "So we both slept better than before?"

"It seems that way." Kurt is suddenly very interested in the contents of his cereal.

"That's good then." Blaine thinks about his next words for a moment and then decides to just go for it. "I'm glad this honesty thing is... working out."

Kurt lifts his head and looks into Blaine’s eyes. "Yeah. Me too."

They smile at each other for a moment, and then Kurt's smile turns a little ridiculous. "Okay, you have to tell me – what's deal with all the pointing your brother does in those ads?"

 

\---

 

The television is open with the sound down low, the excited voices of some talk show only comfortable background noise. Blaine's sitting on the sofa with his books and Kurt's curled up in one of the armchairs, sketching another outfit for Andrea's play. He started this sketch, the clothes for one of the students in the play, some days ago when Blaine was sleeping on his bed with a migraine, and maybe that's the reason the outfit has so many soft lines and soothing colors.

Kurt adds some more shading to the drawing, satisfied with his sketch so far, and lifts his head to look at Blaine. The book on Blaine's lap doesn't look like one of the paperbacks he bought the first time they went out; it's bigger and thicker with pale and discreet covers. Blaine's eyebrows are scrunched up in concentration, completely immersed in whatever he's reading. Kurt discreetly ducks his head until he sees the words printed on the front cover, or at least parts of them. Something starting with _Pedag_...

Kurt does a double take. Is Blaine reading about pedagogy? Is he _studying_? Kurt quickly thinks back to that time when Blaine mentioned his studies. Blaine did say that he never got his degree, so is that why he's reading something that looks suspiciously academic? Is he taking a break from college or what? Is he going to get his degree someday? Is there a future teacher in this room with Kurt?

Blaine yawns suddenly, and Kurt returns his gaze hurriedly back to his sketches, trying to act like he wasn't staring at Blaine. Beneath his eyelashes he can see Blaine stretch his arms. Blaine's shirt rides up and Kurt can see a sliver of his tan stomach (focus, Kurt, _focus_ , he's your bodyguard), but then his arms fall back down to his lap and he closes his book. Kurt acts like he's still shading his sketch even if the drawing doesn't actually need any more of it. He can feel Blaine's eyes on him and hopes sincerely that he's not blushing right now.

"So," Blaine says and Kurt lifts his head. "Costume design. How did that happen?"

Kurt lifts one his eyebrows. "You're suddenly asking this because...?"

Blaine shrugs. "I don't really know. I'm just curious. You seem so passionate about it, always carrying that notepad with you. And I saw the sketches you have in your office. They're... breath-taking."

Kurt blushes. Blaine's voice is sincere and honest, like Kurt’s sketches actually do take his breath away, and though Kurt has heard his fair share of compliments, none of them have ever been said with such reverence. "Well thank you," he manages to say.

"I'm just stating the obvious." Blaine smiles. "But really, how did you end up becoming a costume designer? Judging from all that you've told me you might as well be an actor or a singer." He puts his book away and is settling into a more comfortable position on the sofa when he stops. "But only if you want to tell me. You don't have to –"

"It's not some well-kept secret, Blaine." Kurt smiles. This is the first time Blaine has actually initiated a conversation; earlier he's always just opened his mouth to say something and then closed it with a frown, waited for Kurt to take the first step. Now Blaine's opening up, expressing his interest. It's making something warm settle in right next to Kurt's heart.

"Okay." Blaine settles on the sofa, slouching against the backrest. "Tell me then, Kurt Hummel, how did you become a costume designer? I'm assuming you studied it?"

Kurt can't stop smiling. "I did. Although originally I was studying at NYADA to become an actor , like Rachel."

Blaine gives a low whistle. "NYADA? That's impressive. Don't they accept like..."

"Around twenty students per year," Kurt finishes for him. The way Blaine's eyebrows raise at that makes Kurt's heart do somersaults.

"And you were one of them?"

There's no surprise in Blaine's voice, just honest admiration and wonder. Kurt feels surprisingly bashful all of a sudden, but he keeps going.

"Yep. Me and Rachel. I auditioned with _Not the Boy Next Door_ and got in. Then suddenly I was living in New York, sharing an apartment with Rachel and watching as my whole dream came true." Kurt knows his eyes have glazed over and he probably looks incredibly wistful, but he can't help it. Those first months in New York are one of his fondest memories – finally getting out of Ohio, finally being in a place where he can feel more accepted, finally showing everyone that he knows what he's doing and is damn good at it.

"But?"

Blaine's tentative voice shakes Kurt out of his memories. He blinks and takes a deep breath.

"But then, in the middle of my first year, I realized that I was actually enjoying my minor courses a lot more than the ones in my major. Costume design was my minor because I've always been interested in fashion and clothes – I used to plot weekend outfits and give my friends makeovers when I was in high school – and I thought it might be a fun counterbalance to singing and acting. But it was _so much_ fun. Getting to know the characters and designing clothes that fit their personality, and just... The spotlight wasn't on me, but on something I had created all by myself. It wasn't about the performer, it was about the performance, and I... I liked it. I loved it more than anything. Still do. Sketching and comparing fabrics and the feeling of seeing actors on a stage, wearing something that's completely mine and that helps them slip into their characters... It's intoxicating."

Kurt looks at Blaine then, at the tender smile on Blaine's face, and grins back. "So after my first year I changed my dream and my major with it and decided to focus on costume design one hundred percent. I still love singing and performing, but let's face it, there aren't that many roles for a countertenor on Broadway anyway and being an actor is just way too stressful." He stops for a moment. "Oh god, that sounds like I'm making up excuses. It's not like that, I swear. Costume design is my passion and I don't want to do anything else with my life, period."

Blaine laughs softly. "No, it didn't sound like you were making excuses. Your..." He averts his eyes. "Your face lights up in this amazing way when you talk about costume design. That sort of tells me that it's not just some backup plan."

Kurt knows he's definitely blushing now, but there's a faint pink tinge on Blaine's cheeks as well. "What about you?" he asks.

Blaine shrugs. "Well, being a bodyguard isn't exactly my passion."

"No, I meant..." Kurt shifts in the chair. "I meant teaching." He looks meaningfully at the closed book on the sofa.

Blaine's eyebrows rise in surprise and he crosses his arms over his chest, the familiar uncomfortable gesture coming back after so many days. Kurt can see that a part of Blaine wants to hide and distance himself, get his walls and curtains up once again, and he instinctively reaches out his hand towards him.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he adds. "I'm just curious, that's all."

Blaine takes a shuddering breath and then slowly lowers his arms. "No, it's fine." He shakes his head. "I haven't talked about it with anyone for a long time, that"s all."

Kurt keeps his face under control even though the tone of Blaine's voice makes him want to cross the distance between them and hug Blaine. So much for appropriate thoughts. "Oh. I, um, I guess what I'm wondering is... Why teaching?"

Blaine scratches the back of his neck. "I actually thought for a long time that I wanted to become an artist as well. An actor or a musician most likely – something to do with singing. But then... Then my plans changed, kind of like yours. During senior year I just realized that as much as I loved performing I wanted to help people as well. I wanted to help kids see their own potential and help them through school and teach them about important things. Show them how fun life can be and make them enjoy school. I did some tutoring at Dalton and I've always liked kids, so I just... decided to apply to teacher training."

He stops for a moment, and Kurt can see the light in his eyes, in his smile, can see the longing in everything Blaine is.

"I got in. For music education even, for my number one choice." Blaine laughs a little. "I was studying music and doing my minor in English and... It all just made me realize how well it fit me, how being a teacher was all I wanted to be. Who cares about performing on a stage when you can have a classroom full of kids listening to your every word and trusting you to help them? All I wanted to do was to help them. To teach them. My... My own teachers weren't always so understanding, so I wanted to give every kid I taught everything I had. They deserve it."

Blaine pauses again, looking at the book lying next to him on the sofa. The light in his eyes dims a little, and there's suddenly something hollow inside of Kurt, something that seems to empty whenever Blaine looks sad.

"But it didn't work out in the end," Blaine says. Kurt notes with hope that there's no finality in his voice, as if things might change someday. As if Blaine still wants to become a teacher, someday, but he just needs to deal with whatever is keeping him away from college at first.

"What happened?" Kurt asks quietly.

Blaine shrugs. "I dropped out. About ten months ago."

Kurt feels his heart clench. "Why?"

Blaine crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders. "I don't..." He trails off, takes a breath and tries again. "That's something I can't... I don't really want to talk about it."

Kurt gives him a reassuring smile. Blaine's already shared quite a lot of personal things, especially compared to those early days of their weird relationship. It's more than enough for Kurt.

"It's okay," he says. He wants to reach out and squeeze Blaine's shoulder, but instead he flips his notepad closed and gets up from the armchair. "I was thinking we could eat pizza tonight. How does that sound?" he asks, changing the subject to something less personal, something less threatening.

Blaine doesn't react at first, but then he looks at Kurt, something determined and brave in his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it... Yet. But I think I will. Someday."

Kurt blinks. Blaine's words hold so much weight, so much meaning between the lines, and for the first time Kurt realizes that maybe he's not the only one who feels uncharacteristically open and trustful in their weird little friendship.

 

\---

 

The room is dark around Blaine, too dark and too silent once again. They'd decided to sleep in their own rooms for a change, see if the sleeping problems would resurface, and after two nights Blaine knows for a fact that his have come back. They haven't talked about it yet, both of them probably too afraid to admit their problems in case the other one is sleeping just fine (at least that's what has kept Blaine from saying anything), but Blaine's really starting to miss sleep. One night of good sleep isn't enough; it just made him want more, as ridiculous as that sounds.

He turns over to his side and huffs. He feels even more nervous tonight, after opening up to Kurt about his history with college. Even if the discussion was rather superficial, thinking about college reminds him of his failures, of the times he has cared and crashed and burned, and he feels almost... helpless. Kurt draws him out, makes him want to share his darkest moments, but at the same time there's still a part of Blaine that keeps thinking that caring will make him fail. He can't help it. That part has been muffled and shrunken down for these past few days, hiding behind his study books, and Blaine had already started to think that maybe this will work out, maybe Kurt will be the one thing in his life that he won't fail.

But now he's lying on his bed with worst case scenarios running around inside his head again, facing another sleepless night. Even though he and Kurt went running in the morning (Kurt refuses to be locked down inside his own apartment because of "some crazy stalker who just sends me stupid letters and thinks it's funny"), Blaine's shoulders feel tense and his head feels too full of worries and memories.

When he was sleeping with Kurt his head felt blissfully empty.

Blaine untangles the sheets from his legs and gets up. The apartment is humming around him when he walks the short distance from the guest room to Kurt's bedroom. The door is closed but a dim light is shining from the crack between the door and the floor, and after a moment's hesitation (courage, Blaine, _courage_ ) Blaine knocks on the door. The answer is almost immediate.

"Come on in."

Blaine cracks the door open and peers into the room. Kurt's sitting on his bed with the newest issue of _Vogue_ , wearing striped pajama bottoms and a thin t-shirt with _Hummel Tires & Lube_ written on it. As gorgeous as Kurt looks in his impeccable suits and with his hair styled to perfection, Blaine has to admit that he somehow likes this Kurt more – the relaxed and toned-down version of Kurt with his hair looking so soft and his bare feet peeking out beneath the covers. The comfortable clothes seem to just accentuate his broad shoulders and long legs, and Blaine finds himself speechless for a moment. This is a side of Kurt that not everyone can or will see. Blaine feels honored in a way, to know that he has earned this much of Kurt's trust.

"I..." he starts finally, but Kurt stops him with a shake of his head.

"I know. Me too." Kurt puts the magazine on his bedside table with a sigh and scoots to the other side of the bed. "Come on. I miss sleep."

He could sound resigned or annoyed, but instead his voice is soft and understanding, like sleeping in the same bed with his bodyguard is the most natural thing in the whole world. Blaine sneaks in, closes the door behind him and crosses the room to sit on the other side of the bed. Somehow they have ended up on the same sides they were sleeping on the last time, and Blaine smiles a little, already feeling the horrible scenarios fading away from his head.

"Are you sure this is alright?" he still asks, wanting to be sure.

"Yes, Blaine," Kurt answers, and Blaine can almost hear how he rolls his eyes. "Sleeping on the same bed with you is... perfectly and utterly alright."

Blaine turns his head and looks at Kurt, who has already flopped down on the bed and is currently arranging a blanket over himself. "Perfectly and utterly alright?" he repeats with a grin.

"Just shut up and go to sleep," Kurt answers but Blaine can see the way his eyes crinkle up in a smile. Perhaps this is natural to them, and that's all that matters.

In the morning Blaine wakes up with his arm slung over Kurt's waist and his leg pressed against Kurt's thigh. The fabric of Kurt's t-shirt is soft against his cheek, the rhythm of Kurt's breathing a calming movement under his arm. Blaine feels warm and serene, and each and every one of his senses is full of Kurt. It could be strange or creepy, it probably should be, but Kurt smells like fresh mornings and whatever skin-care products he uses, his long fingers are resting lightly on Blaine's arm, pale against the tone of Blaine's skin, and he's snuffling quietly against Blaine's curls. When Blaine turns his head and looks at Kurt, careful not to disturb him, he can see the way Kurt's eyes are moving under his eyelids with whatever dreams he's seeing. Kurt mumbles something unintelligible and shifts closer to Blaine, sighing contently in his sleep.

Blaine thought that he was supposed to keep Kurt safe, that he was the one doing all the protecting in this relationship, but when he's lying here in the gentle sunlight with Kurt he suddenly feels safe from all the demons from his past, from all the mistakes and failures he has made. It's frightening, it makes something tighten around his chest, but it also feels like the caged feelings inside his heart are finally spreading their wings and fluttering their feathers.

It feels like it could be freedom.

 

\---

 

Of course there's a new letter that morning, waiting in the middle of all the other more pleasant letters – even bills are considered more pleasant than anonymous letters. Blaine looks at Kurt's face when he reads it through, staring at the way Kurt's eyes skim from word to word. Blaine can see through the thin paper that this letter is written in screaming capital letters once again, and the earlier freedom sinks inside of him when Kurt's brow twitches.

Kurt closes his eyes and sighs. He keeps his eyes closed as he folds the letter slowly, and then finally opens them to look at Blaine. His eyes aren't scared, they aren't terrified – they look almost... annoyed.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks carefully.

"It's the same old mumbo-jumbo," Kurt says and drops the letter on the table. "How I'm too talented for everything and how people should appreciate me more but how no one's really worthy enough to enjoy my 'immense talent'." Kurt makes air-quotes in the air and rolls his eyes.

"Kurt, that's not... We can't ignore something like that."

Blaine reaches for the letter to read it himself, but Kurt stops him with a hand on his arm. "Blaine, please. Don't read it."

Blaine blinks. "But... Why? I'm still your bodyguard, I need to..."

"I don't want you to get more... anxious." Kurt's fingers start moving nervously. "I've really liked spending time with you these past few days, and I don't want you to read that letter and retreat back again." He ducks his head, looking embarrassed.

Blaine can feel his expression softening immediately, can feel the freedom raise its head again. "Kurt..."

"I swear there's no mention of you in that letter this time. So no need to go all guilt trip on me either, okay?" Kurt wiggles his index finger in the air. "I just... I told you when we first met that I don't want to stop living my life because of this stupid anonymous fan. That hasn't changed. And I guess right now living my life means that I hang out with you twenty-four seven, and I hate it when people around me worry too much."

Blaine draws his hand back with a small smile and lets the letter be. "Okay."

Kurt smiles back at him. "Do you want to call Wes or should I...?"

"I can do it." Blaine snags his phone from the counter and presses speed dial two.

Wes arrives as quickly as he can, still eating a bagel Sarah made him that morning. He takes a look at the letter with his brows furrowed, and then has a short conversation with Kurt while Blaine washes the breakfast dishes and the few plates they left unwashed last night. Blaine turns the small kitchen radio on, drowns the faint conversation coming from the living room under the melodies and beats. He sinks his hands into the water and hums to the music. Logically he should be a nervous wreck right now, after a new letter, but somehow knowing that Kurt himself isn't terrified and is feeling so confident that he's even trying to keep Blaine from panicking internally makes Blaine feel almost... good. Of course a new letter is never a good thing, especially now that the anonymous fan has moved from polite words to capital letters. But Kurt had seemed just annoyed. Annoyed is always better than frightened.

Wes comes back to the kitchen after a while. Blaine doesn't even notice him at first, humming and swaying to the music while he dries the dishes, but then there's a soft cough behind him and he turns to see Wes leaning against the counter, his eyebrows raised and his mouth turned into a grin.

"Is everything okay?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah, I promised Kurt I'd take the letter to the police station for him," Wes answers.

"Did you read it?"

"I did." Wes sighs. "I honestly don't know what to think about this anonymous fan. He was so polite at first, and now he's suddenly screaming and writing like he's making threats between the lines."

Blaine averts his eyes. "I know. I’m worried that it’ll escalate even more."

"So am I." Wes drags his hand through his short hair. "Kurt seems to be doing well though, all things considered."

Blaine laughs. "Yeah, he seems more annoyed than anything."

"You seem good as well," Wes remarks. “I can't remember the last time I've seen you so relaxed."

Blaine frowns as he dries the last plate. "Really?"

"Yes, Blaine, really. It's... It makes me happy. I was worried for a while. Me and Sarah both were."

"Oh." Blaine puts the plate away and looks at Wes. "Why would you be worried about me?"

"Blaine." Wes sounds both exasperated and fond, the way he often does when he's talking to Blaine. "I've known you for, what, over ten years? I can tell when you're doing that distancing thing of yours, and every time I've seen you during these past few weeks you've seemed to be doing it more and more. But now you look... happier. More like yourself. Did something happen?"

Blaine ducks his head. "Sort of."

"Whatever it was, it seemed to finally put some sense into that thankfully no longer gelled head of yours," Wes huffs.

"Hey! Don't mock the gel!" Blaine throws the dish towel at him, but Wes catches it with a grin.

"It was a helmet, Blaine. A helmet made out of gel."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings in the tags for this chapter. It's not graphic and it's not that long, but it's there.

The door telephone rings late one afternoon when Blaine's doing the dishes in the kitchen – he insisted, once again, and as much as Kurt loves cleaning, he actually doesn't like washing dishes that much, so he obliged. Kurt gets up from the sofa, dropping his notepad on the table, and yells that he'll get it.

"Hello?" he answers the phone when he reaches the hall.

"Mr. Hummel? It's Greg, from the ground floor."

Kurt recognizes the voice of the doorman who usually works on evenings, and releases the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. It's silly. He knows that ten times out of ten it's the doorman when his intercom rings, but apparently getting anonymous letters has made him more paranoid on top of everything else. Which is sort of understandable, especially when he just got another note. He's not scared, not really; he's just... cautious.

"Hi Greg! Is there a problem?" he says.

"Not a problem. There's a package that just arrived for you."

Kurt feels the anxiety come back, seeing in his mind letter bombs and packages with horrible things inside them, and okay, maybe he needs to stop watching thrillers so often when his own life is already exciting enough. "Package? But I haven't ordered anything,” he says, a little proud of himself when his voice doesn't quaver.

He hears some shuffling, and then Greg's voice comes back. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Hummel, my mistake – it's not actually for you, though the address is yours. It's for a... Mr. Blaine Anderson?"

"Oh." Kurt blinks. "He's... He's my, um, assistant." Has Blaine ordered something? Surely he would've mentioned something to Kurt if he had. "Is there a return address?"

"Yes, actually, there is. Hold on... The sender is a C. Anderson, if that rings a bell?"

"Greg, can you wait for a moment?" Kurt asks, and after the doorman says yes, he takes a few steps towards the kitchen. "Blaine, has your brother said anything about sending you a package?"

It takes a moment, but soon Blaine is peering around the corner, drying his hands on a towel and shaking his head. "No, but he's pretty unpredictable. Why?"

"Well, apparently he has sent something for you," Kurt explains and then turns back to the receiver. "Greg? Yes, it's for him. We can just come pick it up or..."

"It's quite heavy, Mr. Hummel, I can send it up for you."

The package _is_ big – it's actually two rather large packages tied carefully together, with Blaine's name and Kurt's address written in bulky handwriting on each of them. Kurt watches as Blaine stares at the handwriting until he begins to feel uncomfortable.

"How does your brother know my address?" he asks. He knows he sounds a bit accusing, but if Blaine has told his address to his brother, to a man who's a complete stranger to Kurt and who Kurt knows communicates with his little brother only through phone calls and e-mails...

"He doesn't." Blaine points to the address. "See? These were first sent to Wes' address, which my brother does know, and then Wes has forwarded them to your apartment. I could recognize their handwritings anywhere."

"Oh." Kurt rubs his arm. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I just don't get what Cooper would send me..." Blaine starts opening the packages carefully in the hallway, and Kurt stands back, still not entirely convinced that there isn't a letter bomb inside them. He has an over-active imagination, what can he say.

Five minutes later Blaine is staring wide-eyed at an old guitar case, a pair of boxing gloves and a battered punching bag, looking astonished and like Christmas has arrived early this year. Kurt thinks it's sort of adorable, and when he sees the tender way Blaine opens the case and runs his fingers down the guitar's strings, he can't help but smile. They're Blaine’s outlets, boxing and playing music, and mentally Kurt thanks Blaine's brother for being a good man.

"He sent me my guitar and my bag." Blaine's voice is amazed, and then he chuckles. "Of course he did."

There's a note with Blaine's name on it taped to the punching bag, and Blaine snags it, folding it open and reading it quietly. Kurt watches as Blaine's smile grows wider and wider, once again surprised at how different Blaine has seemed after his migraine, after he started opening up. He seems more like himself, more talkative, more smiling, more... present, completely, not just hiding behind a thick curtain. The first thing he noticed about Blaine that rainy afternoon all those weeks ago were his eyes, brown and tender like a cup of strong tea, but today he feels like he's noticing them for the first time, seeing them light up in a way that makes Kurt's heart do somersaults, and god, if Blaine's eyes aren’t the most gorgeous eyes he has ever seen.

... Blaine, who's still also his bodyguard. Even if they share a bed. Right. As if things aren't already unconventional enough.

Kurt shakes his head and then clasps his hands together. "Well, I guess we should put that bag up in your room. I think I have some tools around here somewhere."

Blaine looks up. "Oh no, Kurt – that's really not necessary. I don't know why he would send these to me in the first place. This is your apartment, and it's not like I can turn your guest room into a gym."

"Nonsense. What's the use of having a punching bag if you can't punch it?" Kurt waves his hand. If Cooper knows his brother as well as Kurt thinks he does, he must have known that Blaine could have some use for his old outlets. Blaine still looks torn, so Kurt continues. "Come on, Blaine, it's just a few holes on the ceiling. It's not like you're going to turn my whole apartment into a smelly locker room."

Blaine smiles at that. "If you're sure it's okay..."

"It is!"

"... then where are these tools you mentioned?"

They get the punching bag up surprisingly fast – Kurt knows how to use tools after spending time in his dad's shop when he was younger, and Blaine has apparently put up punching bags before. By the time they're finished, with the battered punching bag swaying slowly in the corner of the guest room and Blaine's guitar resting against the chair, they're both sweaty and Blaine has already shrugged off his loose hooded jacket (who knew punching bags could be that heavy?). Kurt is trying very hard not to stare at Blaine's bare arms when he lands an experimental punch on the bag. The bag sways, but doesn't fall down – Kurt calls that success.

"It seems pretty solid," Blaine says, steadying the bag. There's an excited glint in his eyes when he runs his fingers over the battered fabric.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Kurt says. He can see the way Blaine is just itching to take the gloves and spend some time hitting the bag. Kurt gets it. It's stress relief, the same thing skin care routines and cleaning are for him.

"Were you going to go somewhere today?" Blaine asks, already reaching for his gloves.

"No, I think I'm just going to continue working on those sketches for that new play." It's true; he's sketched some of the outfits for Andrea's play already, but there are still a few unfinished costumes and one or two characters he hasn't had the inspiration for yet.

Blaine smiles. "Okay. Give me a shout if you need anything."

"Will do."

When he's halfway out the door, Kurt turns to look back. Blaine's shaking his arms and head, clearing out any signs of stress or stiffness, his legs jumping a little. He looks relaxed and like he's in his own element, his limbs loose but still somehow precise. Kurt smiles to himself, and when he reaches the hallway he hears the first solid punch echo through the apartment. After that the hits follow each other in a precise rhythm.

It could be annoying or distracting, the slam of Blaine's fist against the synthetic leather of the bag, especially when Kurt himself is trying to design outfits for a bunch of school kids in a play that doesn't even mention boxing. Kurt knows that boxing is an outlet, but he used to think it still sounded so violent, like flesh hitting flesh. Somehow though the sound of Blaine's rhythmic boxing is like the beat of a drum – something energizing, something powerful and strong. The lines in Kurt's sketches become precise and bold as well and he concentrates on them, not on the thought of Blaine being sweaty or on the image of his muscles flexing under his thin t-shirt.

 

\---

 

Kurt flips through the books he has spread out on the living room table, furrowing his brows as he contemplates suitable fabrics for the costumes he's already finished sketching. He could do this in his office – there'd be just as much space there as in here – but the living room is closer to the guest room. To Blaine's room, where Blaine has been softly strumming his guitar after their dinner that night, and Kurt would rather listen to him than to his own iPod that's full of songs he's already heard multiple times.

But Blaine's guitar has been quiet for a while now, and when Kurt gets curious and lifts his head he sees Blaine standing in the hallway, practically shuffling his feet awkwardly. He's still holding the worn acoustic guitar in his arms, the fingers of his other hand resting gently against the strings.

"I know you're probably working and don't need any distractions,” Blaine starts, "but would you mind if I came to play here? The light's better here than in the guest room, and my eyes are already starting to feel tired."

"No, of course!" Kurt gestures towards the sofa with a smile. "I don't mind. A little background music is always nice."

Blaine nods thankfully and shuffles to the sofa, sitting down and adjusting his guitar on his lap. Kurt watches him for a moment and smiles fondly at the concentrated look on Blaine's face as he starts to tune the instrument. As the soft strum of the strings fills the room Kurt turns his gaze back to his books, marking a few pages with post-it notes for future reference. After Blaine is satisfied with the sound of his guitar he starts to play various chords and small tunes. Kurt zones out for a while, his mind full of fabrics and materials and colors, all in display inside his mind, flowing together with the music.

A few minutes later he has to raise his head again when Blaine starts to play something more recognizable.

" _Stayin' Alive_? Really Blaine?" Kurt asks, not bothering to hide the laugh evident in his voice.

Blaine stops and raises his eyebrows at Kurt. "What? Don't you dare mock Bee Gees in my presence. That song is a classic."

"I'm not mocking, I just hadn't thought that you liked disco." Kurt leans back in his chair, the fabrics quickly forgotten. He has a pretty good idea what he's going to use anyway, so he might as well enjoy Blaine's company a little better.

Blaine, however, looks shocked. "It's disco, Kurt. How could you not like it? All that groove and rhythm?" He does a few Travolta moves with his hands and Kurt laughs.

"You're ridiculous." He shakes his head. "Is there even a music style you don't like? You were pretty excited about those swing songs at Geoffrey's birthday party as well."

Blaine plays a few chords and hums. "Not really? I mean I've never really liked that more depressing stuff, death metal or punk or something like that, but other than that... All music styles have their good and bad songs."

The chords turn into notes, and Kurt recognizes parts of a song he remembers hearing once or twice. "Wait, what's that?"

Blaine stops and plays the notes again. "This? It's... Um. I remembered hearing it at that swing party, and I've played it on the piano before. I was just wondering what it would sound like with a guitar instead."

Kurt crosses his legs, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Play it for me? It sounded beautiful."

Blaine hesitates. "I don't really..."

"Please?"

Blaine ducks his head, looking shy. "Alright."

He starts the song again, a bit more slowly this time, closing his eyes after the first notes. Kurt looks at him, at his fingers moving on the strings and at the faint blush on his cheeks, almost forgetting to pay attention to the song. But then Blaine opens his mouth and sings the first lines, quietly and so, so tenderly, as if the words are delicate birds he's setting free to the world.

" _I can only give you love that lasts forever, and a promise to be near each time you call. And the only heart I own for you and you alone – that's all. That's all._ "

Kurt has of course heard Blaine sing before. He still remembers the karaoke night, remembers Blaine jumping on the stage with Wes, proud and enthusiastic. He knows Blaine has a good voice. He can remember admiring Blaine's voice already in high school, looking at a Warbler performance at some competition and thinking that the lead vocalist had a comfortable voice. That's a good word to describe Blaine's voice: it's like musical comfort, something that envelopes the listener and makes them feel warm. This time is different though – this is just Blaine, kind and caring Blaine with his old guitar, sitting in Kurt's living room without back-up singers or karaoke machines. His eyes are closed lightly, and his whole body is staying still, except for his hands that slide down the guitar's strings, playing the notes carefully. He sings like he's promising something, his voice growing stronger with the lyrics but still keeping the same tenderness.

Kurt inhales and then let's his own voice join Blaine's, quietly at first, not wanting to disturb him. Blaine's fingers don't stutter on the strings, but he opens his eyes and looks at Kurt, his face alight with wonder. Kurt holds his gaze as their voices soar, tangling together in the air like two birds circling each other cautiously.

" _If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear, you'll be glad to know that my demands are small: say it's me that you'll adore, for now and evermore – that's all. That's all._ "

Blaine plays the last note on his guitar, letting it linger in the air. He's still looking at Kurt when the sound fades, his eyes big and bright, and Kurt stares back, not wanting to break the connection.

Blaine's the one who manages to say something first. "That was... Wow."

Kurt laughs softly. "Yeah. We sound good together."

"We sound amazing together," Blaine corrects, and Kurt blushes. "Kind of makes me wish we had been in the same show choir back in high school."

"Yeah," Kurt admits. He can almost see it in his mind: singing together with Blaine at Sectionals, maybe sharing a few duets; sitting next to him in the choir room, rolling their eyes at Mr. Schue's ridiculous ideas. He wonders if they had been friends if they'd met earlier, if they had even been something more, both of them young and shy, just silly high school students without a professional relationship standing between them.

"I... Your voice really is amazing, Kurt." Blaine's voice is sincere and astonished, like it always is when he compliments Kurt. It sounds like he can't believe someone like Kurt is real. Kurt can't remember anyone ever talking to him like that.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "Your voice is gorgeous as well."

Blaine smiles. His hands are resting against the guitar's body, loose and relaxed, and Kurt wants to suddenly reach out over the sofa table and hold them, feel their warmth and the touch of Blaine's fingertips. The lyrics of the song are still echoing through his mind, and he wonders if he could fall in love with Blaine. If he's falling already.

 

\---

 

Their days follow a pattern. Kurt usually wakes up first, disentangling himself from Blaine with a smile and padding to the kitchen to make coffee. Blaine startles awake a few minutes later, momentarily confused until he remembers why he feels so warm and content. He gets up, picks up the mail and joins Kurt in the kitchen for breakfast.

Both of them breathe a sigh of relief when there isn't a new letter.

They go for a run every other day, wearing more and more clothes as the days go on and the weather turns colder and windier. After the run Kurt retreats to his office to continue his sketches while Blaine takes a pile of books and his laptop to the living room, reading and writing, until Kurt suddenly appears with his notepad and pen, sits opposite Blaine and continues working as if nothing happened. It makes Blaine smile at the pages of his book.

After a while they always ignore their work and start talking. They talk about their families, and Blaine finds out that Kurt's father is Congressman Burt Hummel, the one Blaine himself would have voted for if he had been allowed to vote back then, and that Kurt's mother is dead and while he'll never consider Carole his mom, he does love her and his step-brother dearly. Kurt learns that Blaine's father is a lawyer and his mother has her own business, that they are and always have been very busy, but Blaine knows they do their best and love their sons. They talk about what coming out was like to them; about their childhoods and what they dreamed their lives would be like when they were young; about the stupid stunts their brothers have pulled.

The only things they don't talk about are the details of Kurt’s bullying and Blaine's college experience, both of them speaking scattered words and unfinished sentences when the topics come up.

It's something Blaine doesn't remember having with anyone else before: both the easy silences and the flowing words between them, the want for company even when they don't necessarily need it. It makes Blaine wish he could have it forever, could have Kurt in his life forever. It's not something he actively thinks about; he's still Kurt’s bodyguard, they still have a professional relationship, even if it's quite unconventional. They sleep in the same bed, laugh at the same jokes, talk about practically everything – living with Kurt is easy. Everything about Kurt is easy now that Blaine has accepted it, and he sometimes wonders if he's doing something very wrong as a bodyguard, or something very right as himself, as a human-being.

On most days they go out for lunch, becoming frequent customers in the diners and cafés near Kurt's apartment. Blaine stays near to Kurt when they walk on the sidewalks of New York, just in case, but Kurt doesn't seem to mind. He actually leans into Blaine's touch whenever Blaine's hand brushes his arm or the small of his back. During lunch they smile at each other and talk about various things over their table, and most of the time Blaine forgets that he's a bodyguard. He stays alert of course, but when Kurt throws his head back in a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his blue eyes shining with amusement, Blaine can't really help himself if he stares and forgets everything else.

Blaine boxes. Kurt dances around the apartment and forces Blaine to dance with him. Blaine does the dishes, Kurt cleans the apartment. Blaine reads fiction and academic books, Kurt reads reference books and magazines. They go out shopping once or twice, Kurt buying samples for his costumes and Blaine insisting on carrying the bags. Blaine sends e-mails to his parents and calls his brother, Kurt sends e-mails to his brother and calls his dad. Blaine plays his guitar in the living room and Kurt sings with him, their voices fitting together perfectly, Kurt's melodic countertenor with Blaine's soft tenor. They make dinner together or order something from the Chinese place down the block. Rachel comes over every once in a while, dragging Wes and Sarah with her, and they all sit in Kurt's living room, comparing high school stories and trying to stop Rachel from performing every song she has ever sung. Sarah brings something from her bakery each time, and when Blaine's eating his piece of cheesecake – Kurt had a rather enthusiastic reaction to that – Wes looks at him across the room with a small smile. Blaine raises his eyebrows at him, and Wes just shrugs in answer.

Every night, after Kurt has finished his skin-care routine and after Blaine has read one more chapter from his books, either one of them appears on the other's doorstep, standing there awkwardly for a while, until the other scoots over and makes more room. They lie closer to each other on the bed than they did in the beginning, the back of Blaine's hand brushing Kurt's fingers, their shoulders bumping and their feet touching every now and then. They exchange a few words, talk about their day or the next one, and Blaine inhales Kurt's scent, letting it calm him and lull him to sleep.

There are no nightmares, no disturbing thoughts, no too-vivid imaginations, no staying awake because of the thoughts racing through his head. Just Kurt breathing quietly next to him, his eyes moving under his eyelids as he dreams; and then, in the morning, Kurt's chest rising under Blaine's arm and the fabric of his shirt soft against Blaine's cheek, Kurt's fingers trailing along Blaine's arm, playing with the fine hairs on his skin.

Blaine knows it's something that shouldn't exist between a bodyguard and his client. It's domestic, it's unconventional, it's strange – but it's wonderful. It would be perfect if there wasn't an anonymous fan looming behind every conversation, darkening each breakfast, making Kurt frown every now and then. Blaine wants to erase the letters, erase the stupid anonymous fan, erase the lines on Kurt's beautiful face. But if he erased the whole situation and everything about it, he himself wouldn't be here. There would be no need for Kurt to have a bodyguard, no need for Blaine to lie on his bed with Kurt, no need for Blaine to spend all his time with Kurt. Blaine wouldn't be listening to Kurt's voice, sharing a laugh with him and touching him. There would be no small sparks running up his arm when Kurt sometimes reaches out and takes his hand when they're walking outside.

Like they're a couple. Or at least two very close friends.

Blaine doesn't want to erase that. He doesn't want to erase Kurt from his life. He just wishes the circumstances were better.

 

\---

 

They're having lunch in one of Blaine's new favorite places that day. Blaine briefly wonders if it's weird that he already has his favorite places in New York even though he doesn't really live here, but then the waitress puts a huge plate of chicken salad in front of him and Blaine forgets those thoughts. One of the reasons Blaine likes this restaurant is that it has the best chicken salad he has ever tasted, and he suspects Kurt has noticed this. They seem to come here so often that Blaine gets more than enough of the delicious salad. Which he might or might not be staring at right now.

Kurt laughs, sitting opposite him with his own French fries and salmon steak. "You really like that salad, don't you?"

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, of course not. I'm glad you've found places you enjoy as well. For a while I felt like I was just dragging you to all my favorite places without even asking you if it was okay. I was afraid I was turning into Rachel Berry."

Blaine grins. "It's okay. I didn't really know any restaurants or anything here, so I'm glad you've introduced me to this place and its glorious chicken salad," he says, doing a small bow towards his plate.

Kurt snorts. "You're being ridiculous again."

"I'm never ridiculous about chicken salad, Kurt. Have you tasted this? It's like a piece of heaven on a plate."

"Blaine, stop it," Kurt giggles. "I mean it. I still have a reputation and I'd like to maintain it." He tries to sniff and sound indignant, but the smile twitching the corners of his mouth betrays him.

Blaine smiles and focuses on his salad. He likes to make Kurt laugh. Kurt has enough troubles as it is, and if Blaine can make him forget them for a while, make him just be himself without an anonymous fan looming in the background, he has definitely done something right. The doubts are still there, lingering inside his mind and whispering that he isn't being professional or acting like a bodyguard, but Blaine tries to ignore them most of the time. Why focus on something like his silly doubts when he can focus on the way Kurt's cheeks start to glow when he smiles?

An older man wearing worn out jeans walks past their table, bumping into it in a way that makes Kurt startle and their plates rattle. It's obviously not an accident, and when Blaine turns to look at the man and hears him mutter "damn fags" under his breath he suddenly forgets everything about Kurt's smile, the bodyguard inside of him jumping to the surface.

He hasn't heard those words in ages and never before in New York, but of course he should have known that even though the city is big and more accepting than some small town in Ohio, there are still narrow-minded people here as well.

The man stops shakily a few feet from their table, practically sneering at Kurt – and that's what makes Blaine put his fork down. Kurt doesn't deserve that look or the prejudices the man is throwing at him. Nobody does. Everything about the man is screaming against Blaine's instincts, telling him to get Kurt away, get him safe, leave and make sure that there's no danger. But they're in a public place, Blaine can see one of the waitresses following their moves, and Kurt's reaching for his hand, asking him to let it be. Blaine might be a bodyguard, but he's also a Dalton boy, one that was always taught to be polite and considerate. Maybe even more than is always necessary.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Blaine asks, keeping his voice calm, and the man's eyes drift from Kurt to him. _Good. Look at me, don't look at Kurt. Focus on me_.

The man is clearly confused by Blaine's politeness at first, but then he seems regain his senses and scoffs. "Yeah, there's a big problem. I don't wanna be forced to see certain things when I'm having lunch."

The man has an accent, so maybe he isn't from New York at all, and his voice sounds a bit thick, like he's been drinking. Blaine should have known it. He has nothing against alcohol or drinking it, but he has a lot against the way certain people start to act when they've had too much to drink. (And come on, being that drunk during lunch hour? That's just sad.)

Blaine opens his mouth to say something, but Kurt beats him to it.

"Maybe you should then eat your lunch home alone so your delicate eyes wouldn't be attacked by actual human-beings," Kurt retorts. His voice has a biting edge Blaine hasn't heard before, and it makes him turn around and look at Kurt. Kurt's eyes are burning as he stares at the man, his hand gripping his fork so tightly that his knuckles are almost white.

Blaine nearly forgets about the man and his homophobic slurs. He's never seen Kurt like this before, not even when he lost his temper at Blaine's distance, not even after their visit to the police station. Kurt looks angry, annoyed and strong, so strong that Blaine wishes he had that kind of strength as well.

But there's something else behind all that anger, something barely noticeable. It's there in Kurt's eyes, and it takes a moment for Blaine to realize what it is. It's sadness. Fear. Bad memories. All the things that Blaine himself knows about, and he doesn't want to see them reflected in Kurt's eyes.

The man growls and takes a step towards Kurt.

Maybe Blaine's overreacting. Maybe the man wasn't going to do anything – after all, they are in the middle of a busy restaurant during lunch hour, Blaine can feel all the other customers staring at them, and the waitress that has been watching the scene is already moving towards them and asking the man to leave – but Blaine can't help it. His instincts are screaming, the man's posture suddenly resembles the football players that once attacked Blaine, and someone is threatening Blaine's client. Blaine's friend. _Kurt_.

Blaine stands up and steps in front of the man, effectively blocking Kurt. The man stumbles, surprised, squinting his eyes angrily at Blaine, and then he pulls his arm back. Blaine knows the gesture, knows what it means (an empty parking lot, he falls to the ground with a scream and someone keeps hitting him; years later he's standing inside a school and seeing in his mind's eye almost the same thing happening again, _why do these things keep happening_ –), and when the loose and clumsy fist moves towards Blaine's face he reacts on instinct, blocking the punch and grabbing the man's arm, twisting it behind the man's back (he's on that parking lot again, but this time he fights back, he doesn't just lie there, he _fights_ , he knows what he's doing this time).

Blaine is two times smaller than the man, but he still manages to keep him still. His grip on the man's arm is tight, probably almost painful, and the man is so surprised that he doesn't fight back, his body completely still in front of Blaine. Blaine's heart is hammering inside his chest, adrenaline and fear and flashbacks of things that happened in the past gushing through his blood, and then the waitress is standing next to them with another waiter, asking Blaine to let go and saying that they're going to deal with the man now.

Blaine blinks. A hand appears on his arm, and when Blaine looks up Kurt's standing next to him, his eyes full of worry. Blaine blinks again, and then he's back, Sadie Hawkins and dirty parking lot gone, and he realizes that he doesn't have to fight. He's safe. Kurt is safe. Blaine shakily releases the breath he'd been holding and lets go of the man's arm. He barely even notices the waiters escorting the man outside or the other customers trying to act like they weren't watching and failing miserably.

Kurt looks around them and then ushers Blaine to the small hallway that leads to the restrooms, away from curious eyes. Kurt's hand is still on Blaine's arm, his eyes still staring into his when they stop. "Blaine?" he asks softly. "Are you alright?"

Blaine shakes his head. "Y-yeah." Reality comes rushing back, and he startles. "I'm... Oh my god, are you alright? Is that man alright? I didn't hurt him, right?" He whips his head around, trying to see the waiters and make sure that he didn't hurt anyone. Blaine doesn't want to hurt people. He doesn't even want to hurt homophobic assholes. He doesn't believe in violence, even if he boxes and knows self-defense.

"No, Blaine, look at me." Kurt's fingers tighten around Blaine's arm, and Blaine turns back to look at him. "I'm fine. That man is fine, even though he deserves something else for trying to punch you like that." He tilts his head, blue eyes worried. "Are _you_ okay?"

Blaine wraps his free arm around his stomach, around the place that still sometimes hurts, a phantom pain reminding him of things gone and past. He hasn't had a flashback this bad in months – the last time was when he dropped out of college and Blaine's not going to think about that now – and before that he hadn't thought about Sadie Hawkins in years. Maybe it's the stress, or the worry of keeping someone safe, but he suddenly feels cold. He likes to stay in control, likes to know what he's doing and keep track of everything, and losing himself like that scares him. If he loses himself, how is he supposed to keep Kurt safe?

"Blaine?" Kurt repeats, moving into Blaine's line of vision.

"I'm okay," Blaine answers and gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows it's probably not that reassuring but it's all he can do now. "I'm sorry."

Kurt furrows his brows. "For what?"

"For... For acting like that. For overreacting. If I'd ignored him, he probably would have just left us alone."

"I think he was looking for a fight, if you ask me." Kurt's thumb is drawing small circles on Blaine's arm and Blaine focuses on them, trying to ignore the cold feeling inside him. He almost did it again. He cared too much, he overreacted because of it and almost ruined things again. What is it about Kurt that makes it so hard to act professional and distant, to not care?

Blaine shakes his head, trying to focus. "I'm not really hungry anymore."

Kurt smiles sympathetically. "That's alright. I'm sure we can get those to go. Wouldn't want to waste that glorious chicken salad, right?"

Blaine gives a small laugh and drags his hand down his face. "Yeah."

Kurt smiles. Blaine takes a deep breath, preparing himself for protecting Kurt again, for being a bodyguard. He can do this. He needs to do this.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lots of talk about past homophobia and hate-related crimes.

Kurt isn't scared of his anonymous fan on most days, not anymore. He's naturally apprehensive and cautious of him (or her, it could be a woman as well), but he isn't scared. The fan hasn't made any tangible threats even if the letters aren't polite anymore, Wes has ensured him that the police are doing all they can, and Kurt trusts Blaine, trusts him to keep him safe. Of course he wishes that the fan would just stop and disappear and leave him alone, of course he used to lie awake every night biting his fingernails (a bad habit, a _disgusting_ habit), but he doesn't want to waste his time on being terrified. Especially when he does actually feel safe most of the time. Even when Blaine was distant and not acting like himself, Kurt still felt safe around him.

But he had been scared in the restaurant. First he'd been just annoyed – New York is definitely less homophobic than Lima, but every now and then there's someone who makes Kurt's skin crawl, makes him want to scream and force everyone to start living in the twenty-first century. The man was drunk and stupid, and Kurt was angry that someone like him would ruin the nice lunch they were having.

But then the man had started to stare at him. The man's eyes were a bit hazy, probably because of the alcohol, but the stare he had directed at Kurt had made his insides twist uncomfortably. It reminded him of smelly locker rooms and the hallways of McKinley High, of not knowing what the other person was going to do. It terrified him. He wants to know what's happening, likes to hold the reins, and it always makes him uncomfortable if he doesn't know how someone is going to act. Especially if said someone is a homophobic drunken idiot who also happens to be two times bigger than Kurt's bodyguard.

He had never seen Blaine detain anyone before. Blaine avoids conflicts, steers Kurt away, stays away from possible threats, but this time Blaine had reacted in another way. Kurt thinks he did the right thing – he knows his own heart was about to burst out of his chest when the man pulled his arm back – and okay, Blaine looked pretty hot when he was all protective and forceful, and it made the fear disappear from Kurt's chest again.

It was quickly replaced by worry though. Kurt can still remember the small tremors running up and down Blaine's arm, the way his eyes had darted, the shakiness of his smile.

It was not okay. Kurt wants to make it okay.

They lie on the guest room bed that night, so close to each other that their thighs are touching, their arms pressed side by side. Kurt traces patterns on the back of his hand with his index finger and stares at the ceiling. He can feel Blaine's tension even in his own skin, vibrating through the dark room. It's been there ever since that incident at the restaurant, thrumming around Blaine, making him jumpy, and Kurt feels helpless. Normally Blaine calms down immediately when he lies down next to Kurt, tension leaving his shoulders, his mouth turning into a soft smile and the lines disappearing from his forehead – but now the tension seems to be locked inside of Blaine, as if something's trying to get free but can't.

And the strange thing is that Kurt feels the same. He's felt that way the whole day.

"My biggest bully kissed me in high school," he says into the silence.

Blaine startles next to him, and then the mattress shifts as he turns to look at Kurt. "What?"

"I told you I was bullied, didn't I?" Kurt explains. "There was this one football player who had made it his life mission to torture me. He slammed me into lockers and called me these awful names and threw slushies to my face. And for a really long time no one even noticed. No one cared."

Blaine's hand finds Kurt's, and slowly he threads their fingers together, giving Kurt's hand a tight squeeze, not saying anything. There's nothing he could say, not right now, and Kurt is grateful for the silence.

"I tried to just take it and stay strong, repeat to myself that things would get better eventually," he continues. "But then one time, after he pushed me into another locker in the middle of a busy hallway and once again no one said anything, I just... snapped. I ran after him and tried to confront him – I can't even remember what I said to him anymore – and then he... He suddenly kissed me."

"Kurt..." Blaine's grip on his hand tightens, desperate and calming at the same time, and that's what makes the unexpected tears pool in Kurt's eyes. He has dealt with his past, has moved on, but sometimes it still hurts like hell. He's never really talked to anyone about everything that happened. Not even to Rachel or Mercedes, not even to his previous boyfriends. Not like this.

"It... It was my first kiss with another boy. It was so disgusting and horrible and just..." His voice breaks, and Blaine moves closer, pulling Kurt's body tightly against his own. "I found some strength to push him away from me, and then he just _stared_ at me for a moment and ran away."

Kurt lifts his hand, the one that isn't clinging to Blaine, and wipes his wet cheeks with it. He takes a deep breath when his cheeks feel dryer, pulling the strength to continue from the weight of Blaine's hand against his palm, his body so close to his own, reassuring and present and _here_.

"A few days later he threatened to kill me if I told anyone about it," Kurt says. He can feel the way Blaine startles again, can hear him swallow roughly. "I... I don't believe in outing people, never have, so I wasn't going to tell anyway, but he was still a bully and he still made my life a living hell. It got pretty bad for a while, really bad, worse than before, but then my... My dad found out about the death threat, and the football player was suspended. I guess that suspension was the eye-opener people needed because after that Finn and my other friends suddenly wanted to have my back and protect me. Karofsky – that's his name, the football player's – he came back to McKinley eventually because of some stupid school board decision, but he didn't bully me anymore and even apologized to me. I think my friends had something to do with that, but I still... I didn't feel safe at that school. I even skipped my junior prom because of it."

He gives a bitter laugh at that, remembering how he spent the entire night sitting in his room and watching musicals until he fell asleep. Blaine doesn't say anything, but his hand stays tightly in Kurt's, anchoring him to this room, to this apartment, to this moment. Keeping him away from Lima and his past.

"Karofsky transferred to another school after that year, and the bullying sort of... lessened after that. There was still the occasional slushie and taunt – our glee club wasn't exactly popular, so it was sort of expected and the school did nothing to stop it – but it got better. It really did."

Kurt smiles a little, thinks about going to his senior prom, about winning Nationals and graduating, doing it all with his friends by his side. But then he remembers why he started to tell this story to Blaine in the first place, and the smile falls away from his lips.

"But even if it did get better, I still sometimes remember it all, like in some sort of a flashback. It makes me feel scared. Trapped. That's what I felt today when that man attacked us. That's why I reacted like that, with biting words and cold stares. I guess moments like that make me revert back to my old defense mechanisms."

Blaine's thumb is moving across the back of Kurt's hand, reassuring and safe. Kurt blinks the tears away from his eyes, suddenly knowing another reason for telling this story as well, and he desperately hopes that he's going to say the right words, to form coherent sentences from his feelings.

"I think... I sort of closed myself off after all that bullying. I was always a private person, but after that, after seeing day after day that no one cared, that no one noticed what I was going through until they had to... I don't know." Kurt shakes his head. "I built all these walls around myself and kept people at a distance. I've never... As much as I love Rachel and trust her, I've never told her that Karofsky kissed me. I've never told that to anyone."

Blaine shifts next to him. "But you told me now," he says under his breath, his voice confused.

"I did." It's Kurt's turn to squeeze Blaine's hand, and he can feel a small smile on his lips. It feels refreshing after all those bad memories.

It feels like letting go.

"You know," he continues, "my dad said a few weeks ago that he thought I seemed lonely before I met you. And I guess he was right in a way. I have people in my life, great and wonderful people who I love more than anything, but I've always been a bit lonely, especially after all that bullying. And this probably sounds ridiculous, but with you I..." The small smile widens, tingling his cheeks. "I don't feel that lonely with you, Blaine. I feel protected. And I know you're my bodyguard and it's your job to make me feel that way, but I'd like to think we're friends as well. I don't know how we couldn't be, not when you make me feel more accepted and safe than I ever have before."

Blaine doesn't say anything for a long time, and Kurt turns to look at him. Blaine's eyes are wide open and shining with something that Kurt thinks might be tears, and he squeezes Blaine's hand again worriedly. "Hey, hey. What are you –"

"That's..." Blaine stops and swallows thickly. "That's not true, Kurt. I've had nothing to do with that. I've known from the start how strong you are, and that all just proves it. You keep yourself safe."

Kurt shrugs. It's a little awkward when he's lying on the bed, but Blaine's words make him feel like shrugging. "Maybe, but you've helped me in that. And I trust you, Blaine. I didn't tell you all that just to make you open up more or to trick you into sharing your own demons, but to show you that even if you're my bodyguard, I do trust you."

He moves his own thumb across Blaine's knuckles for emphasis. The atmosphere has gotten incredibly intimate at some point, but Kurt doesn't mind it, not when Blaine's hand is finally relaxed and pliant in his own and Kurt can feel himself relaxing as well, letting go of today's anxiety.

Blaine takes a deep breath. "I trust you too."

Kurt shakes his head. "You don't have to say it if you don't mean it."

"But I do. I do mean it."

Blaine turns to stare at the ceiling, but he's clearly not trying to escape the words he just said. Kurt can tell that he's seeing something else inside his mind, something fragile and vulnerable, and he doesn't say anything himself, afraid that he'll break that something if he opens his mouth right now.

"I..." Blaine starts, and then he turns over on his back completely, disentangles his hand from Kurt's and rests it on his own chest instead. Maybe he needs the distance somehow, but he still stays close to Kurt's body, his leg actually twitching even closer.

He blinks his eyes a few times and then starts again, his voice quiet and careful. "I didn't always go to Dalton, you know."

Kurt flops back down on his own back but keeps his head turned to Blaine. "I told you, you don't have to..."

"I want to," Blaine interrupts him. "It's been long enough."

Kurt is startled by the determination in his voice. "O-okay."

He watches Blaine's profile in the darkness and sees how his eyelashes flutter for a moment before he opens his mouth again. Kurt thinks about how brave Blaine is, how strong and safe and kind, thinks about the way Blaine sometimes looks at him like he's something incredible, and Kurt knows that his opinion of Blaine won't change, no matter what Blaine tells him. Blaine's opinion of him didn't seem to change either, even after he bared his darkest memories.

"I... went to a public school for almost a year before Dalton," Blaine starts, "and I was bullied pretty much the whole time I was there. We, um, we didn't have slushies, so mostly they just threw insults at me, called me these names, and... You get the point." He shakes his head. "Anyway, then I... I came out. Right before we had this Sadie Hawkins dance at school. I asked a friend of mine, the only other gay guy in the school, and we went to the dance, just as friends. I really cared about him, and I guess wanted to show everyone else that I wouldn't let their insults get me down. Get us down. I... I wanted to be brave, in a way."

Blaine pauses, and Kurt can see his throat swallowing nervously. "The dance itself was great, but then while we were waiting for my friend's dad to pick us up... These, um, three guys came up to us and they – they beat the living crap out of us."

Something cold twists inside of Kurt, and his sharp inhale echoes through the room. "Blaine –"

Blaine crosses his arms over his chest and hunches his shoulders. "I transferred to Dalton immediately after I recovered and it became my safe haven. I... ran away and took up boxing to make sure I wouldn't be so helpless if something like that were to happen again."

"Blaine, I'm so sorry," Kurt whispers.

Blaine glances to him. "Why? You don't have to say that. It's not like you could have stopped it or something."

"But it's still awful," Kurt says. "You shouldn't have had to go through something like that."

"And you shouldn't have had to go through your own bullying," Blaine counters.

"No one should. Not me and not you."

Blaine turns back to look at the ceiling. He's silent for a long time until he says softly, "I know. I've dealt with it, or at least tried to. It's been over ten years, but sometimes something still reminds me of it, some movement or some word. You know what it's like. I... I don't think getting bullied is something you can just forget over time. It always stays with you, one way or another."

Kurt nods, remembering his own fear earlier today and Blaine's arm trembling under his hand. He stares at Blaine through the darkness, at the way he blinks his eyes and the way his chest rises and falls under his crossed arms. There's a slight hesitance in Blaine's posture, like he's not finished with his story yet, and Kurt wonders if he should just wait for Blaine to continue or prod him somehow. He doesn't know which one would be the right thing to do.

Eventually Blaine opens his mouth and stops, opens his mouth again and stops again, his fingers starting to tap nervously to a beat only he can hear. Kurt bites his lip and then reaches out his own hand, resting it over Blaine's fingers. They still immediately under his touch.

"It does stay with you," Kurt murmurs. "I know my experience always will."

He sometimes thinks his past wounds are like tiny pinpricks on his heart: they don't define him, they're not an essential part of him anymore, and they have shrunken with time. Most of the time they're barely noticeable – but they're still there, he knows they are, itching like an old scar every now and then. Maybe all people are like that: full of small reminders of their past lives, thorns among beautiful rose petals.

"I... Uh. You asked me once why I dropped out of college?" Blaine's voice is quiet and hesitant, like his posture, and Kurt turns to look from their hands to Blaine's face. "It's actually sort of the same reason I was so distant in the beginning. Why I tried so hard to be professional and detached."

Kurt furrows his brows. "I'm not following."

Blaine keeps staring at the ceiling. "I was almost finished with my studies before I dropped out. I had just a few months left – maybe around six months of studying before getting my credentials. Or maybe not even that long."

Kurt smoothes his hand over Blaine's knuckles to indicate that he's listening, not saying anything. It's his time to stay silent and listen, offer quiet comfort like Blaine did.

"I was having some money problems already – I mean who knew that college could be so expensive?" Blaine huffs out a laugh. "My parents or Cooper would have probably helped me, I know they would've, but I didn't want to ask them for money. I wanted to take care of myself, and it was just a few months, so I figured I could make it. I was doing this, um, this practical training in a middle school near my university, sort of acting as an assistant for their music teacher, but I was allowed to teach a few classes on my own. I think... I thought it was going really well – the kids were amazing and the teachers seemed to like me, and I got to do some pretty great stuff in the lessons.”

Blaine's lips twitch up into a small smile. "It was... inspiring. I was getting into it more and more everyday, getting more and more excited and just caring more and –"

He stops abruptly, his smile stiffening and then falling from his face.

Kurt has noticed it before – the way Blaine says the word _care_ like it's something broken and dysfunctional, his voice sometimes almost cracking on the vowel – but now it's even more pronounced, and Kurt deliberately slows the movement of his hand on top of Blaine's.

Blaine takes a deep breath. "There was this one kid in my group, this one girl..." He laughs a little. "I know teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, but she was definitely my favorite. She was always so enthusiastic, and she was really talented as well – you should've heard the way she played the piano, Kurt, it was unbelievable for someone that young. I gave her extra homework because she actually asked for it, and I think out of all the kids I taught she was the one I managed to get through to the most. She..." Blaine swallows. "She actually came out to me after one lesson."

Kurt's hand stops.

"It was a huge deal for her, obviously, but for me as well. It was the first time a student trusted me that much with something so important, and I felt... honored, in a way. We talked, and I told her that it was nothing to be ashamed of and that she could tell her friends if and when she was ready. She was just so nervous, so scared, but I managed to calm her down, tell her that everything would be okay, that she was really brave and that she could face anything the world would throw at her, and when she eventually got up to leave she... She came up to me and hugged me and said that I was the best teacher she'd ever had. Because she knew I really... _cared_."

Blaine blinks his eyes a few times. "The next day – you know, kids can be surprisingly cruel, even when they're just twelve or thirteen. I... I came to work the next day, it was almost my last day at that school, and the headmaster told me that one of the other students had... Had pushed her down the stairs. No one really knew what exactly had happened, but one of the teachers had heard these other kids calling her names, shoving and bullying her, and when she'd stood up to them, one of them..."

Blaine's voice breaks and he squeezes his eyes shut. Kurt shifts closer to Blaine on the bed, twisting his hand so he can hold Blaine's more tightly. The sudden movement makes Blaine open his eyes, and there are unshed tears shining in his eyes, clear even in the room's darkness. Kurt can feel Blaine's whole body trembling next to him, can feel his own throat choking up, his own eyes welling up with tears as well because things like this shouldn't happen but they do, and it's not _fair_.

"Did she..." Kurt starts carefully, wanting to know but not knowing how to say it.

Blaine seems to understand anyway and clears his throat. "I don't know how badly she was hurt. No one would tell me, and I left the school after a few days, and just... I heard that her family moved to another state and I know she broke several bones when she fell, but I don't..."

"No, shh,” Kurt hushes him when his voice starts to break again and the trembling grows worse. "It's okay."

Blaine shakes his head. "It's not. I could've stopped it from happening. I was the one who told her to stand up and call out anyone who tried to give her a hard time, and then she..." His breath hitches, but he swallows thickly and keeps going. "After that it all started to pile up – the money problems and the final exams and everything was going wrong and I felt horrible – until one night I just snapped. I needed to get away, so I left. I ran. That's what I do." Blaine snorts, bitter and miserable. "I ended up living at Cooper's, unable to stop thinking how I had failed once and for all in... In the one thing that mattered to me the most. In keeping people safe."

"Blaine," Kurt says, desperate to get the words out. "You didn't fail. It wasn't your fault. How could it –"

"Every time I care too much someone gets hurt. Either me or someone else," Blaine whispers, blinking against the tears. Some of them still escape, falling freely down his cheeks, sticking to his long eyelashes and making his eyes seem even bigger. "I cared too much when I went to the Sadie Hawkins dance. I cared too much once or twice when I was at Dalton and it always ended badly. I cared too much about my second boyfriend at college – I actually thought that he was the one I was going to spend the rest of my life with and when I told him that, he just... _laughed_ and... moved on without me." He shakes his head. "I cared too much about college and ended up dropping out. I started to care more about one of my students and she got pushed down the stairs. It's like... Every time I allow myself to care more, things go horribly wrong."

Kurt is pretty sure his heart is breaking for Blaine. He wants to scoop him up in his arms and never let him go, hold him close to his chest and make sure that no one will ever hurt him again. He starts to say something, to prove Blaine's assumption wrong – because how could Blaine even think like that when he's so kind and safe and amazing, _how could he_ – but Blaine continues before he can open his mouth.

"I mean logically I know that it's not true, that it's all just some terrible luck and that it's not my fault. But I still _feel_ like it is, like I could have stopped it all from happening if I hadn't gotten so involved, if I had just remained... professional."

There's that word again. Professional. Kurt can almost hear the click inside of his head, the sound of all the pieces falling to their place, the curtains and distances, the crossed arms and averted eyes. The desperate tone when Blaine said that he didn't want to fail anymore.

Blaine takes a deep breath, blinking the tears from his eyes. "But when I came here and saw you standing in the doorway that first afternoon, with your drenched coat and raised eyebrows, I just..." His mouth twists, like he can't decide whether he should smile or frown. "I just _knew_ that you were someone I could care about. And I knew I couldn't do that because I needed to keep you safe. And I still keep thinking that I shouldn't care that much, that you'll get hurt if I do, but I..." He turns to look at Kurt, his lips finally twitching into a tiny smile, so small that it barely reaches his eyes. "But I guess that not caring isn't really working out, considering where we are right now."

Kurt gives him a watery snort in return. "I think you've done a pretty good job of keeping me safe anyway."

The words don't seem like much, but somehow they seem to be the right thing to say. Blaine's hopeful smile widens and reaches his eyes, lighting his whole face, the doubts and hurt disappearing from his eyes. Kurt feels like he can breathe again when he sees that smile, when he can make sure with his own eyes that no matter what Blaine has gone through he has kept and will keep going. They both will. There's no doubt of that.

Who would want to choose thorns instead of rose petals?

Blaine gives a quiet laugh and wipes his eyes. "I've actually never told anyone that whole story either. I think Cooper and Wes both know the gist of it or at least have a good idea of it all, but I've never..." He pauses for a moment, his face softening. "I guess you're not the only one feeling safe here, Kurt. So... Thank you."

There's a weight in Blaine's words, as if he's not just thanking Kurt for listening to him, and Kurt smiles and leans to rest his head against Blaine's shoulder, his hand on Blaine's arm. "No, thank _you_. For everything. For trusting me with this."

His heart is expanding from all the feelings inside of him, from all the good and from all the bad, from the knowledge of how cruel the world can be to its best people. Kurt's never made anyone feel safe before, at least not that he knows of. It's a nice feeling, knowing that he managed to make Blaine feel secure after everything he's gone through. It's like a warm ball of pride and success and something else nestled against his heart.

He sighs and starts to draw lazy patterns on Blaine's arm, small spirals and curves that wouldn't look like anything coherent if his finger was a pen. They're silent for a while, tiredness finally starting to catch up on them. They're both exhausted after revealing so much, but Kurt still has one thought that won't leave him alone.

"Are you going to go back someday?"

"Hm?"

"To college," Kurt clarifies. He thinks about the pedagogy books Blaine reads and how he sometimes sits on the sofa with his laptop, writing something definitely longer than a simple e-mail. "Do you think you're going to go back?"

Blaine taps his fingers nervously against his chest. "I... I think I will. Someday. It's something I really want to do with my life, even if the idea still feels a bit terrifying. Even if I'm afraid of repeating the same mistakes all over again." He shifts on the bed. "I've... actually been finishing some of my old assignments for a while, keeping up even though I'm not enrolled. It sort of makes me miss it even more."

Kurt hums. "I'm glad you think that way."

"Why?"

"Because I think you'd be an incredible teacher. I know you think that things go wrong when you care, but isn't that sort of the best quality a teacher can have? Caring? You just need to remember that it's a good thing, not something you need to regret."

"I know it is." Blaine leans closer to Kurt, his chin brushing the top of Kurt's head. "It's just... hard to remember it sometimes. It was even harder after everything that happened, and that's why I needed to get away. But I think I might be getting there. Slowly but surely."

Kurt nods and closes his eyes, calm and satisfied. Blaine is warm and heavy next to him, breathing evenly. Usually Blaine's the one curled around him, but Kurt's head fits quite perfectly into the curve of Blaine's neck. If he imagines a little, he can almost feel Blaine's pulse against his cheek. It's more intimate than Kurt has been in ages, and right now Blaine isn't his bodyguard – he's his friend, his dear friend, maybe even his best friend, considering everything they just told to each other. Someone who could perhaps be something more, but Kurt doesn't want to allow his thoughts to go that way, not yet. They both just bared their deepest secrets to each other, showed how much trust they’ve built during these weeks. Other serious thoughts can be left for another day, for another night.

Blaine sighs, the sound of his breath already full of sleep. "I just... All I ever wanted to do was to help people. Keep them safe. Maybe it's silly, but that's what I wanted. I just feel like I've screwed up too many times already. It makes it hard to believe that I could succeed someday."

"Not too many times," Kurt murmurs. "Just, you know, sometimes the universe has been against you. Like it's against all of us at some point. It doesn't mean you've failed for good." He breathes in the scent of Blaine's shirt, letting it make each and every last bad memory disappear from his head. "Besides, you _do_ help people and keep them safe, Blaine. You succeed a little every day. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Blaine inhales sharply. "Y-yeah. You're still here."

Kurt drifts off to sleep after that. The last thing he can remember is Blaine's hand clasping his, resting their joined hands over his chest, Blaine's heartbeat a calm rhythm underneath them. Kurt dreams of teachers and students, a school world with back-up singers and people bursting out into song in the middle of the hallways, of a small faceless girl falling down the stairs but flying off instead of hitting the ground, of a man wearing a red cardigan who catches her, who desperately tries to save everyone and almost forgets to save himself in the process.

When he wakes up Blaine is snoring gently against his shoulder, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks and his face void of worries and fears. Kurt looks at him and thinks that if his heart was made entirely out of clothes it would be bursting at its seams right now – and suddenly he knows what sort of clothes the main character in Andrea's play should wear. The main character, a teacher who's so painstakingly dedicated to saving everyone who might need it. Why didn't Kurt think of it before? He can already see the cardigans and vibrant colors in his head, the striped shirts, vests and boat shoes.

The play has a happy ending, and perhaps seeing himself in the main character's clothes could make Blaine believe in happy endings again.

Maybe it's a bit obvious or stupid, a bit weird or creepy all things considered, but when Kurt slips out of the bed, out of Blaine's arms, grabs the notepad on the bedside table and sketches some experimental lines, he suddenly feels like these outfits were the one thing that was missing from the play.

Like Blaine was the one thing missing from his life all along.


	16. Chapter 16

Blaine feels a little awkward when he walks into the kitchen that morning. He's not sure if he knows how to act around Kurt anymore. How are you supposed to act around someone who suddenly knows all your darkest secrets, your biggest regrets and the things you keep hidden from most of the world? Especially when said someone also happens to be your client?

Blaine has never been in a situation like this before, never opened himself up like this, and he hesitates in the hallway, wringing his hands and thinking about a strategy. It almost feels like all of his old fears and insecurities are brimming inside of him, filling all the places they'd already vacated, like talking about them after all that time made them more real suddenly, more evident.

He can hear Kurt humming in the kitchen as he makes coffee. Is Blaine supposed to act like nothing happened, like this is just an average morning, or is he supposed to acknowledge last night somehow? Or what if Kurt's supposed to do that? What if Kurt doesn't trust him anymore, not after everything Blaine confessed, not when he now knows all of his failures, all the dark corners in the cage inside his heart?

Oh god, why are there no guidebooks or references for situations like this? Why are there no appropriate songs Blaine could sing instead of figuring out how words are supposed to work?

His thoughts are cut short when Kurt strolls into the hallway, nearly bumping into him.

"There you are. I was just coming to see if you were still sleeping."

Blaine clears his throat. "No, I... I just woke up." He studies Kurt's face, looking for signs, any kind of signs to decipher this situation. Kurt's eyes are still, smiling at Blaine in the same way they always do. There's no hesitation, no awkwardness, no... Nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn't look at Blaine with pity or like he's expecting him to break. And when Blaine himself looks at Kurt he doesn't expect him to break either, no matter what they've gone through. Kurt isn't fragile, and Blaine himself doesn't want to be.

"Have you been awake for long?" he manages to ask.

Kurt doesn't answer, just looks at him with a quizzical expression, his head tilted as if he's debating something.

"Oh, screw it," he finally mutters, and then he takes a step into Blaine's personal space and wraps his arms around Blaine, sure and strong, gripping him tightly in a hug. Kurt buries his face in the crook of Blaine's neck, and Blaine can feel Kurt breathing him in, the warm air tickling his skin.

It takes a moment, just a short second of surprise, but then Blaine's arms instinctively wrap themselves around Kurt, holding him against him. It's pleasant and comforting, and Blaine closes his eyes just to feel Kurt, feel his warmth and the length of his arms. They haven't hugged before – they've woken up curled up around each other several times, they've danced and they've practically cuddled, but they haven't hugged, not like this, and Blaine is starting to regret not doing this sooner. Kurt's body is perfect for hugging; he's a little taller than Blaine, not much but enough, his broad and wonderfully flat and masculine back feels like it was made for Blaine's hands that are splayed open against the soft material of his shirt, and his neck curves in just the right way, making a fitting place for Blaine's chin.

"No awkwardness?" Kurt asks, his voice ghosting over Blaine's ear. Just those two words, said with an audible gentleness, but Blaine knows the meaning behind them.

He smiles. "No awkwardness."

"Good." Kurt lets go of Blaine slowly, his hands lingering on Blaine's sides. "Did you pick up the mail already?"

"Oh, shoot, I forgot." Blaine shakes his head and then gives Kurt a reassuring smile. "I'll go get it now."

Kurt smiles and retreats back to the kitchen, his fingers brushing Blaine's arm as he goes. Maybe there are no rules or assumptions about how they should act after last night. If they need or want to they can acknowledge it, but they don't have to dwell on it. They can just go on, as usual, but without walking on eggshells around each other anymore.

Blaine smiles to himself and goes to get the mail. He riffles through it in the hallway like he does every morning – there's a magazine, a letter from the Backstage Talent Association and another postcard from someone called Mercedes, who Blaine now knows is one of Kurt’s friends. That's all. There hasn't been a new letter in several days, not since the last one that Blaine didn't read. The charity concert is in a few days, and Blaine sees every day without a new letter as a good sign, as a faint hope that the anonymous fan has backed off.

Kurt is placing two mugs of coffee on the table when Blaine walks in, and he looks up, meeting Blaine's eyes with apprehension. When Blaine smiles and shakes his head Kurt exhales, his features relaxing. Blaine gives the mail to Kurt and sits down, and they start their breakfast in silence. It's not awkward, it's just comfortable, and Blaine feels relief wash all over him again.

"We have to go out today," Kurt says as he's skimming through the Backstage Talent letter. He lifts his head and looks at Blaine apologetically. "I forgot to mention it yesterday, what with everything..." He gestures vaguely with his hand.

"No, it's okay. Where are we going?" Blaine takes a sip of his coffee and hums, pleasantly surprised when he notices it's just the way he likes it. Again.

Kurt waves the letter in the air, munching on his toast. "I have to go check some things with the people that are organizing the concert. At the venue. They probably want to know if I've made the final decision on what I'm going to sing and make sure I know where the backstage is and so on..."

They've talked about the concert already, gone through the basics and where Blaine's place is, discussed it with the police and with Wes when everyone had realized that Kurt was not going to skip the concert. The organizers are aware of Kurt's situation, mostly because Wes thought it might ease some things – they know that Blaine is not just an assistant following Kurt around and they know that Blaine needs to keep an eye on Kurt at all times, even if nothing would happen. Things with the concert are going relatively well, but Blaine still knows that seeing the actual venue before the event itself is just a good thing. It's a matter of being prepared, now that things could be more serious.

"What are you going to sing then?" Blaine asks.

Kurt looks at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "That's a surprise," he sing-songs.

Blaine mock-gasps. "No! That's unfair! But wait, you're going to have to rehearse them? So I'm going to hear you singing the songs in the apartment at some point! A-hah!" He grins victoriously.

Kurt laughs. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not actually going to rehearse them that much. I picked songs that I already know. And you can stop that pouting, it's not going to work," he adds when Blaine juts his lower lip out.

Blaine rolls his eyes and leans back to take an apple from the bowl in the counter.

"So... We can go there today?" Kurt asks after a moment, when he's already moved on to reading the postcard.

"Yes, of course. Why couldn't we?" Blaine frowns and bites on his apple.

Kurt smiles at him over his coffee. "No reason."

 

\---

 

The concert venue, where Kurt is meeting the organizers, is a small concert hall near Broadway. It reminds Blaine a little of the ballroom where Geoffrey's birthday party was held. The concert isn't big enough for one of the actual theaters – "and where would all the tables and the bar go?" – but still big enough to need several people organizing it, from the organization itself to the charity and to the actual performers.

Kurt waltzes through the hall with determination, Blaine following him, and nods a greeting to the people they pass by. They all smile back at him and spare a quick curious glance at Blaine. They must know who he is, but they haven't seen him before, and naturally he's going to attract attention and whispers.

_A bodyguard who looks like that? Kurt Hummel's bodyguard? Didn't you hear about his anonymous stalker..._

Blaine can already imagine what everyone is saying about him behind his back, and he tries to ignore the prickling feeling on the back of his neck. Kurt must be aware of the whispers as well, but he looks strong and gorgeous, his head held up high and his shoulders squared, wearing skin-tight jeans and a light jacket. (Blaine is most definitely not checking out Kurt's back and ass. Blaine is not doing that right now. Or ever.)

An older woman who's standing at the side of the room, wearing a skirt that matches the color of her hair perfectly, approaches Kurt with a notepad, and after genial greetings they start to go through the program, pointing here and there and asking questions. Blaine stays close but lets his eyes wander. The concert hall is obviously not finished yet: the stage is still empty of instruments and microphone stands, and a few workers are installing a temporary bar at the back, another few adjusting the spotlights over the hall, but it definitely looks like it's going to be ready in a few days. Blaine calculates the rough distance between the stage and the door and asks the woman talking to Kurt if he can see the floor plan. He tries to memorize most of it, but everything seems fine. The space between the tables isn't too small, and there seems to be enough room so that people won't get clustered together. Clusters are always difficult.

"Blaine?"

Kurt's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. The woman has flipped her notepad closed and she and Kurt are obviously finished, so Blaine flashes a smile and gives the floor plan back.

"Felicia and I managed to cover everything. Do you still need to...?" Kurt asks.

Blaine looks around the hall. "I could take a look at the backstage? If that's possible?"

The woman – Felicia – nods. "Of course. It's right this way."

There are less people roaming the backstage, and Felicia shows them where the dressing and storage rooms are. There's a spot right next to the stage, hidden behind the thick curtains, where the stage and even most of the hall can be see in their entirety. Blaine makes a mental note of it. He does need to see Kurt at all times, but he can't exactly stand next to him on the stage when he's singing. He wouldn't even want to. This concert is Kurt's shining moment, and Blaine's not going to steal any of his spotlight.

"I guess that's all," Kurt says and shakes Felicia's hand with a smile when their little tour is over. "I'll see you in a few days then."

Blaine shakes her hand as well. They're already making their leave when Felicia suddenly gasps and runs after them, her heels clinking against the floor. Kurt and Blaine stop and turn to look at her.

"I almost forgot – too many things on my mind and so on – but there's still one more thing," she says, starting to riffle through her purse. "We received this letter…"

Blaine can practically feel Kurt tensing next to him. "A letter?" he asks.

"Yes." Felicia lifts her hand, holding a discreet white envelope in it. "It was addressed to the organization, so we opened it. It didn't have a return address and... Well." Her eyes flick between Kurt and Blaine. "It's about you. Both of you, actually."

Blaine raises his eyebrows. Both of them? Kurt sighs next to him and puts out his hand. "Can I read it?"

"Yes, of course. We would have ignored it otherwise, but since we know about your, er, situation..." Felicia gives the letter to Kurt with a sad expression. "I'm sorry."

Kurt nods and opens the envelope, his fingers not shaking even the tiniest bit. As he folds the letter open Blaine leans over to read it as well. Thick black typed words spread from one margin to the other, saying over and over again how 'Mr. Kurt Hummel' is too talented for this concert, how the organizers clearly don't have the faintest idea of the immensity of his talent and how they don't deserve to have him gracing their stupid charity with his presence. The words are the same they've been in the previous letters, but when Blaine reaches the end of the letter he feels his breath catch in his throat:

_You should also not let that dark-haired man that is always following Mr. Hummel around anywhere near him if you still decide to go on with your ridiculous concert. Mr. Hummel is too good for that man, for that sad pathetic little man – who also has violent tendencies. I saw him the other day, attacking a man right in front of Mr. Hummel. He is dangerous and we need to protect Mr. Hummel from him –_

Blaine feels Kurt reach down between their bodies, thread their fingers together and give Blaine's hand a firm squeeze. When Blaine manages to tear his eyes from the letter and look at Kurt, something cold circling around his body, something that resembles a lot like failure, he has the sudden desire to apologize, to retreat back to professionalism, because isn't this what happened the last time? Isn't Blaine always making the situation worse with his actions?

Kurt stares back at him, his eyes steady but obviously searching Blaine's face for his emotions, and then he squeezes his hand again. "Hey, stop that. This is not your fault. You didn't fail."

Kurt's voice is silent and tender, even if he's obviously upset about the letter as well; the hand holding the letter has started to tremble minutely, and Blaine knows Kurt, knows his face, knows what he looks like when he's trying to stay together. He's trying to stay together for Blaine, and that's just wrong, in so many ways. Blaine blinks and squeezes Kurt's hand. He didn't fail. He can do this. Kurt needs him. He banishes the thoughts of retreating and of old regrets rising to surface out of his mind for now and gives Kurt a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay. Sorry." He is okay, in a way. It feels good that Kurt knows what makes his eyebrows furrow, knows why he says he's sorry without further explanations. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Kurt sighs. "I... Yeah." He throws a dirty look at the letter. "This just means that my anonymous fan has actually moved into stalking. Which also means that he probably has been at those previous events instead of scouring the Internet for photos. How delightful."

Blaine lets his thumb smooth over Kurt's knuckles. "We should probably call Wes."

Kurt nods and then suddenly seems to realize that Felicia is still standing awkwardly in front of them. She had acted a bit distant around Blaine before, but now she smiles at them both in a motherly way, and Blaine can feel his cheeks reddening. Kurt gives Blaine's hand one last squeeze and then lets go, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry you got involved in this, Felicia. If you want me to withdraw from the concert..." Kurt starts, but Felicia just waves her hand in the air.

"Nonsense, Kurt. You're one of the best costume designers this city has ever seen and people want to see your other talents as well. They want to see you sing." Felicia smiles brightly. "Besides, people like you are a prime example of what art programs can actually achieve in schools. We'd be refuting our own cause if we made you withdraw."

Blaine takes the letter from Kurt when he sees the moistness in Kurt's eyes, and Kurt crosses the distance to give Felicia a brief hug. "Thank you," he says softly.

Felicia pats his back. "Don't thank me. Just make sure you sing one hell of a song and that you're safe at our concert," she says and winks at Blaine. Blaine smiles and gives her a salute.

When Felicia leaves them, Kurt digs into his pocket for his phone, dialing Wes as Blaine starts to fold the letter back together. Felicia had evidently sliced the envelope open, and when Blaine tries to slip the letter neatly back into the envelope, he notices something under the flab, something stuck on the glue and barely visible against the white paper. He frowns and lifts the envelope closer to his eyes, trying to see what it is in the dim lighting of the hall.

Kurt starts talking next to him. "Hi Wes, it’s me..."

Blaine squints his eyes. It looks like there's a small... hair stuck between the flap and the envelope. It's light and short, definitely not one of Blaine's own dark curls or one of Kurt's brown hairs. It can't even be Felicia's – her hair is bright red with wavy curls – and the hair seems to have slipped under the flap before the envelope was closed. Which means...

Oh. _Oh_.

Blaine nearly drops the envelope when the realization hits him. He turns to Kurt quickly, tugging at his arm, and Kurt looks at him with his eyebrows raised. "Wes, hold on... Blaine? What is it?"

Blaine grins triumphantly. "I think... I think your anonymous fan might have made a mistake."

 

\---

 

The cliché about police station coffee tasting stale is depressingly true. Kurt stares into his coffee mug, stirring the brown liquid with a plastic spoon. Blaine is sitting next to Kurt with his own coffee, and Wes is nursing a cup of tea in the corner of the office room they're currently waiting in while Levinson talks with his colleagues.

The letter had been whisked away to evidence. If the hair actually belongs to Kurt's anonymous fan, if it still has some DNA in it and if the anonymous fan-slash-stalker is in the police database, they have him. There are too many ifs in that equation, but they could actually have him. Kurt can't believe that he almost accidentally dropped the envelope at one point when he was reading it. He can't believe that Blaine actually noticed the tiny hair.

"Did you read the letter?" Wes asks in a low voice, leaning against the wall.

"Yeah, we did." Blaine puts his coffee down on the table. "It mentioned that I, um, detained a man when we were having lunch the other day. So the fan has definitely been stalking Kurt."

Wes is silent for a while. "Detained?" he finally asks, but his voice isn't judgmental or angry, and when Kurt turns to look at him there's actually a small smile playing on Wes' lips.

"He was being a homophobic idiot," Blaine explains. He looks embarrassed. "I... I didn't hurt him or anything, at least I don't think I did..."

"He didn't," Kurt adds.

Wes shakes his head fondly. "Relax, Blaine. I know you wouldn't hurt a fly."

Blaine glances to Wes with a grateful smile, and Kurt is once again reminded that his agent and bodyguard are actually friends. Amongst all the professionalism and anonymous letters he forgets it sometimes, but the way Blaine and Wes talk to each other, even look at each other, reminds Kurt of his and Rachel's friendship, the easiness of it. It makes him happy that Blaine has someone like Wes during all of this. Kurt feels like giving a grateful smile to Wes himself.

He would much rather think about things like that – about coffee and the way Blaine smiles and the no-nonsense presence Wes has – than about the too confusing aspects of his own anonymous fan situation. Because on one hand, his worst fears were just confirmed: his fan actually is a stalker who doesn't just spend hours searching for his pictures on the Internet (a depressing thought) but actually follows him around and watched him when he was having lunch (an even more depressing thought). But on the other hand, this is also the first time Levinson's eyes have almost bulged out of his head, the first time there's been a sliver of possible evidence on the letters. It's too overwhelming, all the bad and good feelings blending together inside Kurt, muddled and confusing, and he would much rather analyze the bland taste of his coffee than concentrate on the mess inside of him.

Blaine reaches out and gives Kurt's shoulder a small squeeze, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Hey," Blaine says softly. "Are you alright?"

Blaine's eyes are bright and worried, and Kurt feels the mess fade away a little when he looks into them. It's the Blaine effect, the way he always manages to make Kurt feel safe and not alone.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Just... too many thoughts running through my head."

Blaine looks sympathetic. "Same here, if it makes you feel any better."

"Me too, if either one of you cares to know," Wes quips, and Kurt gives a laugh.

Levinson comes back at that moment, nods at them in greeting and then sits behind his desk with a sigh. He looks at a picture on his desk with a fond smile, a photo of a younger man with his arm around a smiling woman. The man's hair is the same color as Levinson's, the same grey-brown, and Kurt thinks that maybe the man in the photo is the detective's son.

It takes a while, but eventually Levinson meets their expectant eyes.

"Well. I have news. I wouldn't say that they're good news, but they aren't necessarily bad news either, so..." He scratches the back of his neck. "We sent the hair to our lab, and one of the guys said that it seemed to have its root still intact, so we might get a DNA from it and cross-reference it against our own database. So that's a good thing."

"I sense a but coming," Wes says.

"Not really a but per se. We've been going through the previous letters and we gave them to this forensic linguist that sometimes consults us..." When Levinson seems to notice the confusion on Kurt's face he explains, "She has helped us determine whether different ransom notes were written by the same person, analyzing textual patterns and stuff like that. I don't really understand much about it, but we gave her your letters for analysis because she has worked on a few stalking cases before and she... She thinks you're not the first person this guy has harassed like this."

Kurt can see Blaine sit up straighter from the corner of his eye, but he can't tear his own eyes away from Levinson, not really understanding what he means. "What?"

Levinson clasps his hands over the table. "She thought the letters felt familiar so she compared them to these other unsolved harassment cases we have. Apparently the formal language and the font and the... syntactical features were similar, so it's very likely that your anonymous fan is the same person responsible for stalking three other people as well – a scriptwriter, a director and an actor. He seems to target people working on Broadway, for some bizarre reason."

"So... I'm not the only one he has sent anonymous letters to?" Kurt asks carefully. There are even more thoughts running around in his head, bumping into each other and not making any sense. It's almost too much, but he knows that he needs to focus, that this is important.

Levinson nods. "Yeah. It always starts with letters, first all polite, and then they get more demanding, and we think he – or she, but he is more likely, statistically speaking – we think he has committed some vandalism as well with his previous targets. And stalking, of course, finding out where the people he's harassing are going to be and so on."

"How does he find out about it all?" Wes asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We think he calls different people and organizations, sneaks into offices and pretends to be a journalist or someone from the business. But..." Levinson averts his eyes for a moment and then turns his gaze back, clearly choosing his words carefully. "If your stalker is the same guy, this is the first time he has sent letters to someone else besides the person he's harassing. The first time he has... escalated this quickly."

Blaine sucks in a quick breath next to Kurt. "Because this time his target hired a bodyguard. Because he saw me and got annoyed."

Kurt turns to look at Blaine so quickly that he can practically hear his neck snap. "What?" he exclaims, the sudden loud voice making Wes flinch in the corner.

Blaine keeps staring at Levinson, his eyes expressionless. "He turned aggressive in the first letter that mentioned me. I must have been the trigger that caused him to snap."

"Blaine..." Kurt breathes. He feels like he's about to be sick – not because he blames Blaine, but because he knows that Blaine blames himself, because Blaine is going to think he failed, and god, Kurt really hates his stalker for several reasons right now.

Levinson shrugs. "It's possible. Before it seems to have taken him months to become this insistent, and even then he's been very careful about never mentioning anything revealing and fading away just when we thought we had found something incriminating." He leans forward on his chair. "Look, forensic linguistics isn't really something we can build a case on, but it does give us a possibility. And we... We do have a possible suspect. This one guy, we suspected him for stalking those other people, but we never had enough evidence to get him. But he is a suspect. And that means we have his DNA."

Wes frowns. "So if that hair Blaine noticed has some DNA..."

Levinson nods. "Then we know for sure that we're dealing with the same stalker. We can build a case on that."

Kurt can't look at Blaine's expression anymore, not when it's obvious to Kurt himself that Blaine has actually made things better – Blaine's appearance made the anonymous fan screw up, Blaine noticed the hair, Blaine has made Kurt’s whole life better. So he reaches out and takes Blaine's hand, not caring that Levinson and Wes are right next to them. Blaine turns to look at him, and Kurt tries to convey everything with his eyes ( _this is not your fault, you didn't fail, trust me Blaine, you can care, you don't have to shut yourself out, I need you right now_ ).

Blaine blinks once, and then his face softens, like some silent conversation or understanding has passed between them. Kurt mentally pats himself on the back, letting himself focus back on the conversation but not letting go of Blaine's hand. They need to talk about this all, of course they do, but knowing that Blaine isn't going to retreat back to professionalism will always be a relief.

Levinson doesn't even bat an eye at Kurt and Blaine's joined hands. "Of course we don't know for sure whether this stalker is the same one we've been investigating. We'll have to wait for the DNA tests for that, but the linguistics and the pattern do seem familiar."

"Do you have a picture of that suspect for those previous cases?" Wes asks, ever the professional. "It could be a long-shot, but maybe one of us might recognize him."

Levinson starts to go through the files on his desk. "Yes, of course. I was actually going to ask you to take a look..."

Kurt swallows. What if it's a picture of someone he knows? The anonymous fan could be anyone, but before this he has always been a faceless abstract thing in Kurt's mind, someone that doesn't actually exist outside the letters. Kurt has believed in best case scenarios and ignored the worst, perhaps a little innocently, but that's how he has kept going. What if he recognizes the person in the photo? What if the anonymous fan, the stalker, has been sitting in the next table every time Kurt and Blaine have gone out for lunch, what if he has taken Kurt's coat at different events, what if he has always been there and Kurt just hasn't noticed him?

His heart is beating loudly in his chest when Levinson finally finds a large photograph from one of the files and leans over to hand it to Kurt first. Blaine's hand is still holding Kurt’s, a comforting pressure on his palm, and Kurt takes a deep breath before he lifts his eyes and takes the photo.

He had sort of been expecting a mug shot, but the large photograph is clearly from a surveillance camera, the empty hallway of an office building with a lone man staring straight into the camera. Kurt doesn't recognize him. The photo is black and white, but the man still clearly has light hair, the messy locks pointing in every direction, and his face looks completely ordinary, the kind that wouldn't make Kurt look twice if the man walked past him on the street. Somehow that's even worse than the thought of him being someone Kurt knows. If the DNA matches, it means that some complete stranger decided to stalk Kurt, that some completely random person saw his costumes in a play and decided that hey, here's someone I will send anonymous letters to, this will be great!

Kurt swallows again and shakes his head. "I don't recognize him."

"You sure?" Levinson asks, his eyes gentle and concerned. He must be a great dad, the kind that listens to his kids' problems, and Kurt finds himself suddenly missing his own dad.

He takes one more look at the photo, but the man's face is still completely unfamiliar, a combination of features he can't remember seeing before. "I'm sure," he says and hands over the photo to Blaine. He doesn't want to touch it any longer than necessary.

Wes leans over to look at the photo over Blaine's shoulder, furrows his brows for a moment, but then he shakes his head as well. "I can't say that I recognize him either. He could be anyone."

Levinson sighs. "Well, it was a long-shot in any case. It could have pointed us in the right direction, but..."

"Wait."

Blaine's voice is small and a little unsure, but it makes the whole room stop, makes Kurt turn to look at him with surprise. Blaine is staring at the photo, and he gently disentangles his hand from Kurt's and holds the picture in front of his face with both hands, his face concentrated and thoughtful. There are no sounds; Kurt doesn't even think he's breathing right now, too focused on the tiny wrinkles between Blaine's eyebrows and the way his eyes are moving as he takes in everything in the grainy photograph.

"I've seen him before," Blaine finally says as he lowers the picture back to his lap.

"Where?" Levinson asks, flipping his notepad open.

"I... I remember seeing him at the first party I went to with Kurt – that fundraiser your friend organized?" Blaine glances quickly at Kurt and then turns his eyes back to the picture, scrunching up his face in thought. "He walked towards the bar when we were standing there, and I thought he looked a bit shady, so I steered Kurt a few steps further away from him."

"How can you –" Kurt starts but Blaine interrupts him.

"And I saw him at Geoffrey's birthday party as well. He was... He was sitting at the table next to ours, not talking to anyone. He looked familiar, but since the theater circles aren't that big I just thought that he knew the organizers of both events, like Kurt." Blaine frowns. "I didn't realize he was there to..."

Blaine trails off, not wanting to say what everyone already knows. Wes is staring at him with a surprisingly proud look, as if he always knew getting Blaine to be Kurt's bodyguard was a good choice and now everyone can suddenly see how right he was. Levinson's pen is hovering above his notepad, and Kurt feels like he should laugh, break the sudden stunned surprise that has fallen over the small office. He feels like laughing because Blaine – the man who thought he would fail, who was so sure that he couldn't keep Kurt safe – has done a better job than anybody else could have. And Kurt knew it already. He knew it from the first moment he saw Blaine.

"Well then." Levinson smiles and puts his pen down. "That makes our theory about the stalker being this guy seem even more likely. That's good."

Kurt finally manages to find his own voice again, still staring at Blaine. "How can you remember him after only seeing him briefly two times?"

Blaine turns to look at him and shrugs like it's not a big deal. "I just... I have a good face memory. It's useful if you want to be a teacher."

Kurt gives a laugh. It's a bit overwhelmed and astonished, but Blaine grins at him uncertainly anyway.

The rest of the day is a blur. They're all interviewed again, separately and together, and at Kurt's insistence Levinson tells them more about the previous cases. Not too many details, but a few additional facts, and everything sounds so familiar, like Kurt has been there himself – but then again he kind of has, kind of still is. The facts, however, do make Kurt feel even more grateful for Blaine. Apparently the other victims hadn't hired a bodyguard and had tried to deal with it by themselves. The stalker might have turned angrier because of Blaine, because he has a stupid fixation that Kurt is too good for everyone, but Kurt can't imagine doing this alone. He can't imagine doing this without Blaine, without Blaine's comforting presence always next to him.

It's already late in the evening when they finally get home, both Wes and Levinson promising to call Kurt if something changes. Kurt calls his dad, spends almost two hours on the phone with him and with Carole as well, convincing them that everything is alright and that yes, he's going to perform at the concert, and no, they don't have to take the next flight to New York, Kurt has Blaine and he doesn't want his dad to leave the tire shop because of this. He doesn't want to complicate anyone else's life any further.

He can hear Blaine talking in the guest room, probably calling his brother or his parents as well and explaining the situation to them. Kurt thinks about the teacher Blaine could be, reassuring and calm, smiling and supportive, and maybe Blaine can finally go back to college if they catch the stalker. If he feels ready after all of this. As good as Blaine is as a bodyguard, Kurt can see it's not something he particularly loves to do, and the thought of Blaine getting to move on gives Kurt more strength.

They don't talk about the stalker that night, not yet, avoiding the topic to hold on to the fragile hope that has started to grow in both their hearts. Kurt makes dinner, Blaine does the dishes, and then they watch some old musical from the television until Kurt can feel his eyelids starting to droop, his shoulder leaning closer and closer to Blaine on the sofa. Blaine practically carries him to the bedroom, and Kurt falls asleep with Blaine's fingers stroking his hair, his voice humming silently to a song Kurt doesn't recognize.

 

\---

 

The next afternoon Blaine finds Kurt sitting on the sofa in his office, a blank expression on his face and his fingers fiddling nervously with his phone. The room is dim, curtains halfway closed and the lights flicked off, and Blaine stops to look at Kurt for a moment. He doesn't like it when Kurt looks like this, this unsure and nervous, and he would do anything to make him smile again, make his eyes and face light up like they so often do. Blaine has never liked to see people sad and it always gives him an insufferable urge to do something, anything, to help somehow. But with Kurt those feelings seem almost unbearable – like he can't exist properly if Kurt is sad, like Kurt's sadness makes Blaine feel empty and hollow as well.

He steps into the room and sits down next to Kurt on the sofa, so close that their thighs are touching. Kurt doesn't flinch away, doesn't say anything, just stares at the phone that is still moving restlessly in his hands, a flicker of movement in the otherwise still moment.

"What's wrong?" Blaine asks softly.

Kurt blinks, his eyes focusing first until he glances at Blaine. "Levinson called," he murmurs. "The results came back."

Blaine doesn't have to ask what results Kurt is talking about. He gently takes the phone from Kurt, setting it on the armrest, and then holds Kurt's hands in his own. Instinctively his thumb starts rubbing over Kurt's knuckles in a slow rhythm. "And?" he prompts.

Kurt stares at their joined hands. "It's a match." He takes a shuddering breath. "The... That man you recognized from that photo? His DNA matches the hair's DNA. It's him."

Blaine inches closer to Kurt on the sofa and leans to rest his cheek against Kurt's shoulder, breathing in his scent as his thumb never stops its movement. "Did Levinson say anything else?"

"He said that the fan... That the stalker doesn't have a regular address. Or a phone number. He doesn't even have a P.O. box, he doesn't have anything." Kurt shivers. "So we know who he is, we know what he looks like, but we can't..."

"We can't catch him," Blaine finishes for him. The small hope that had started to grow inside of him with Kurt's previous words starts to fade, turning into something cold and bitter, and he closes his eyes. It's not fair. From the moment he noticed the hair on the envelope Blaine has been thinking that maybe this is it, maybe they can get rid of the stalker and maybe Kurt can continue his life without fear. But of course things are never that easy – Blaine should know that by now, but he's still a hopeless optimist at heart, always hoping for the best.

There's still a small part of him, the bodyguard part, that is already preparing for the worst.

"But he's coming to the charity concert the day after tomorrow," Kurt continues. "Levinson thinks he won't break his pattern."

Blaine opens his eyes and turns to look at Kurt. "Are you going to withdraw?" he asks carefully. He knows how much the concert means to Kurt, has seen the smile on his face when he talks about it, has seen the design he made for the suit he's going to wear ("because, Blaine, costume design is my passion and I want to incorporate it into this concert"), has seen how annoyed he's been when anyone has suggested that he should just lay low and hope the anonymous fan goes away. But maybe things have changed now that the fan isn't so anonymous anymore.

Kurt shakes his head. "No. I'm going to perform." He inhales, sitting up a little straighter. "And we're going to catch that stalker if he shows up."

Blaine lifts his head. "Wait, what?"

"Levinson asked the organizers if it would be okay to have more guards and undercover police officers at the concert, and they agreed. So I'm going to perform. And the stalker is probably going to show up because that's what he does whenever I attend anything. And when he shows up..."

"They're going to arrest him?" Blaine stares at Kurt, his mind suddenly a whirring mess of thoughts and feelings and doubts and reassures. "So it's like... I don't know, like a set-up?"

Kurt nods. "Yeah. A set-up. Because they can't find him any other way. He's sneaky like that."

Kurt's short laugh is bitter and angry, and the sound of it hurts Blaine almost physically, like he wants to flinch or like someone has slapped him in the face. It's not _fair_. It just isn't.

"Levinson had called Wes first and Wes had... He said that he'll agree as long as I do. That it's my choice." Kurt looks down on his hands again, on Blaine's fingers still entwined around his own. He looks a bit baffled, like he had already forgotten the touch. "And I agreed."

Blaine swallows. "Why?"

"Because I want this whole... _mess_ to be over with. This anonymous fan, stalker, whatever – he has brought nothing but bad things into my life. Nothing but misery and messiness and fear, and I just want to leave it all behind and move on. And if the police catch him, I can do that."

Kurt turns to look at Blaine, an unreadable emotion shining behind his eyes, and no matter how hard Blaine tries, he can't read it. He can't understand what Kurt is trying to say behind his words and with his eyes.

"We both can move on," Kurt whispers.

Blaine startles and looks away, something crumpling inside of him. "Oh."

 _Move on_.

He doesn't know how he feels about moving on. It's hard to imagine it, imagine leaving New York and leaving the bodyguard duties behind. Leaving Kurt behind, after everything they've been through. The thought seems almost impossible. But Kurt has a chance to be free now, to live his life fully again, to move on. To be happy again. He deserves it. And perhaps having a bodyguard, having Blaine constantly around him is one of those things that's keeping him still, dragging him down, one of those bad things the anonymous fan has brought with him.

The doubts are starting to creep back into Blaine's head, the ones that all of his failures have imprinted on his mind, the ones he was reminded of just a few days ago, and he swallows again, more roughly this time, before he shifts on the sofa to put a little distance between himself and Kurt.

"Are you... nervous?" he asks.

Kurt laughs, but it doesn't sound bitter this time; it's watery and amused, and Blaine feels something tighten inside of his chest with it. "No, not at all – I perform in front of audiences every day, especially in front of audiences with my anonymous stalker in them. Who might or might not try to hurt me because you never quite know what makes a stalker snap."

Blaine ducks his head. "Sorry. That was a pretty stupid question."

"No, it's okay." Kurt sighs. "It just... It was somehow easier when the anonymous fan was just that. Anonymous. When he was just a blurry face without any features. It was almost like he wasn't real, like I could pretend that he didn't exist outside his letters." He shakes his head. "But now he has a face, he has a body, he has a name, and I just... He's a _person_ , Blaine. And I just can't stop thinking about why he's doing this, what made him this way, what triggered him to start stalking people working on Broadway. It's so much more real now that he's an actual person, and I don't... I don't understand it, Blaine, I don't. Why did he choose _me_? I'm just a costume designer. I mean, a fabulous costume designer, but still."

Blaine could crack a joke to loosen the tension, could say something deep and meaningful, but what comes out if his mouth instead is the only thing he can think of right now, the only truth he knows: "I don't know."

Kurt turns to look at him, his eyes soft and a little sad. "Me neither."

That night Blaine hits his punching bag harder than he usually does, frustrated because he doesn't have all the answers, anxious because his emotions are a mess, angry because the world is so unfair, disappointed because he didn't manage to completely erase the sad look from Kurt's eyes. Terrified because the cage he had almost forgotten about is shaking inside of him, rattling his feelings around.

He has the earbuds of his iPod in his ears, the old playlist he made when he was younger and started to box playing almost too loudly. His shoulders ache a little, his fists hit the bag with a satisfying sound and his feet dance with his punches. He can feel sweat trailing down his back and his breath is coming out in harsh gasps – and then suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder, long fingers squeezing it gently.

He startles, arms still raised in a fighting stance until he turns around and sees Kurt standing behind him, his arms immediately dropping. Kurt looks determined for some reason, strong and gorgeous as always, and when Blaine searches his face he doesn't find any traces of sadness, like they've somehow evaporated in the last few hours.

Blaine flicks the earbuds off and tries to control his breathing. "Sorry," he gasps out. "Was it... Was I too loud?"

"What? No, nothing like that." Kurt waves his hand in the air. "I just wanted to tell you that... Um. Wes called."

Blaine gets the boxing gloves off and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "He did? Why?"

"He asked me if I wanted to hire another bodyguard for the concert." Kurt hesitates for a moment. "A professional one."

Blaine blinks. "Oh."

"It's not that he doesn't trust you or anything like that," Kurt hastens to say, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "He just said that with the stalker showing up and with the police officers and all I might want someone more trained and..." Kurt cringes. "That doesn't sound any better."

Blaine shakes his head. "Kurt, relax. I know Wes. I know he didn't mean it as a no-confidence vote." He turns away to put his gloves down and takes his towel from the chair. "He probably just wants to make sure that you're as safe as you can be. And let's face it, apart from a few self-defense lessons I don't really have any kind of training. If you want to hire someone else –"

"But I don't," Kurt interrupts him.

Blaine turns back to look at Kurt. The determination is still there, in the way Kurt's chin is jutting out just a little, in the way his eyes seem so steady. Blaine on the other hand doesn't think he has ever felt less determined. "You... What?"

"I told Wes that I don't want another bodyguard, professional or not. I want someone I trust. Someone who trusts me." Kurt straightens his back. "I want _you_."

Blaine almost drops the towel. He knows that Kurt is just saying that he wants him as his bodyguard, but the words make something spark inside of him, something warm and exciting and huge, something he's tried to suppress ever since he saw Kurt for the first time. Blaine has a vivid imagination, and suddenly he can't help picturing Kurt saying those three words in a different way, in a different context, and his heart starts beating faster with just the thought of it.

Blaine isn't used to his body betraying him like this; he prides himself on being in control most of time, on keeping himself together, on allowing himself to slip as little as possible. There's something about Kurt that makes him want to ignore all those regulations, right here and right now. He wants to let go, let loose, allow his feelings and his body to guide him no matter the consequences.

But he's still a bodyguard, and the doubts from a few hours ago start stomping their feet, becoming louder and clearer, his feelings shaking in their cage, scared of the sudden noise.

What if the trust he and Kurt have between them is just a way to make their professional relationship work in this exceptional situation? What if Blaine is feeling too much, what if he has misunderstood everything, what if his fears are right? Kurt did just say that he wants Blaine to be a bodyguard, he talks about moving on and leaving everything behind, he deserves to be happier than this – and with a startle Blaine realizes that he has to let Kurt move on one day.

He has to let go of Kurt someday very soon if everything works out. He has to let himself be left behind.

Blaine ducks his head and scratches his neck. "That's a lot of trust you have in me," he says with a soft laugh. It feels fake, but maybe Kurt won't notice it.

Kurt bends his head until he can look into Blaine's eyes. "It is. And I know you won't let me down."

Blaine swallows. He has his doubts, his fears of failing once again, but this isn't just a job anymore, not just a distraction, not for Blaine. It's Kurt, and Blaine wants to, no, needs to keep him safe. So that Kurt, gorgeous and brilliant and breath-taking Kurt, can move on and be happy and have the life he deserves. No matter what it takes.

Saying that all out loud seems a bit too much, so he just says, "Okay."

Kurt smiles. "I'm going to bed soon, so... Um." He blushes, and Blaine has to wonder why. "My room or your room tonight?"

Blaine looks around the guest room. He can smell his own sweat in the air, can practically feel how stuffy the room is. "Yours?"

Kurt nods. "I'll leave you to your boxing then. Just don't stay up too long." He turns around, and with one last look at Blaine over his shoulder, walks out of the room.

Blaine leans against the wall when the door closes quietly behind Kurt. His own heart is beating loudly inside his chest, and he doubts it has anything to do with the boxing. The feelings are shaking inside of him, threatening to reach out because Kurt is amazing, because Kurt always bounces back, because Kurt picks himself up and refuses to be the victim. Because Kurt trusts him more than anyone ever has, because Blaine just caught himself watching the subtle movements of Kurt's back when he walked away, because Kurt is somehow one of his best friends, maybe even something a bit more, and because Blaine has fought this feeling for too long and now it's suddenly coming back to haunt him.

Because Kurt wants him. But not in the way Blaine desperately hopes he would. The fear hits him like a train wreck, and Blaine tugs at his hair with a frustrated sigh. It hurts, the thought of letting Kurt go hurts, and Blaine suddenly just wishes, oh, how he wishes that he could touch Kurt at least once without the anonymous stalker or their professional relationship hanging in the air between them.

Without the words _move on_ hanging between them.

Blaine lowers his hands and breathes slowly in and out until he can feel his head being in control again, until he can fight the feelings again. He pushes himself off the wall and goes to take a shower, lets the warm water soothe his muscles and his mind. He dries his curls meticulously and pulls on his pajamas before padding down the hallway to Kurt's bedroom. Kurt gives him a smile and scoots over, and Blaine climbs on to the bed, rearranges his limbs until he feels comfortable and pulls the comforter over himself. Kurt curls up next to him, wishing him goodnight with a sleepy voice and sighing contently against the pillow.

Blaine tenses, the words _professional_ and _move on_ chanting through his head, but he still moves a little closer until he can feel the warmth of Kurt's body against his own. That's all he can do. That's all he can settle for. He lets himself forget bodyguards and anonymous stalkers for a moment, for one night. These are the only moments when they aren't standing between him and Kurt so starkly, when he can be just Blaine and Kurt can be just Kurt, and nothing can touch them – before the morning light brings everything back and Blaine has to put on a calming smile once again even if he knows his heart is about to break.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence.

Kurt wishes time would stop or even slow down for a moment. He never thought he would feel like this, but he actually misses the days before Blaine found that hair on the envelope, the slow days with an anonymous letter here and there and with Blaine always in his personal space.

But now time seems to fly, with serious conversations and preparations and rehearsals and worried phone calls and trips to the venue and to the police station. Blaine is still in his personal space, but his face is a bit drawn most of the time, most likely because too much is happening at the same time and Blaine is wishing time would stop as well.

Kurt doesn't blame Blaine for being nervous or worried. He's pretty nervous and worried himself, clinging to Blaine extra tightly when they wake up in the mornings and almost having a nervous breakdown when he can't find his favorite tie immediately one evening. Blaine doesn't show his own anxiety as clearly, but Kurt can still see it, lodged between Blaine's eyebrows and twitching in his fingers when he's lying otherwise completely still.

Somehow Blaine still manages to ease Kurt's feelings, rubs his hand down Kurt's back, a little hesitantly but nonetheless, finds his tie and gives him a small smile, and those little gestures are what make Kurt hope that time would move even faster and that everything at the concert would go as smoothly as Levinson has planned. If it does, Blaine won't be his bodyguard anymore. There will be no professional relationship between them, and Blaine will be just a friend, just an incredible and kind and wonderful human-being...

Whom Kurt has fallen for.

He doesn't know when it happened, doesn't have any idea when he stopped fighting against the feelings that have been growing inside of him for weeks. Perhaps it was when Blaine opened up completely and Kurt suddenly understood him, understood his motives and reasons, saw the whole person behind the bodyguard exterior. Or perhaps it was already when he woke up in Blaine's arms for the first time, when he felt like everything was right in the world. Or perhaps it was any of those moments when Blaine has played his guitar, sang along to the radio or danced in a silly way while doing the dishes. Kurt doesn't know how or when or why it happened; he just knows that he has fallen for Blaine Anderson and the only things standing between him blurting out his feelings to him are their professional relationship and the stupid anonymous stalker.

Kurt doesn't even know if Blaine feels the same way, but he thinks he might – unless that's just his hopeless romantic speaking. They sleep on the same bed, they hold hands, they hug, they sit impossibly close to each other, and Kurt can't help thinking that it's not exactly something that friends do, especially when Blaine's touch still makes spark run up his arm. Especially when Blaine sometimes looks like he wants to do more, wants to be even closer to Kurt, but he stops himself before he acts, like the professionalism is an actual barrier between their bodies.

Kurt understands it. He knows that Blaine is afraid of letting himself go, of failing, and keeping the small distance is his way of staying in control. Kurt can respect that. But if there was no professionalism, no reason for Blaine to think he could fail, they could be... Kurt doesn't even dare to voice that thought. The fact just is that Blaine is the most interesting and amazing person Kurt has ever met and he desperately wishes he was his.

... Not that he wants to own Blaine or something, nothing like that. But if everything goes well in the concert, if the stalker is caught and Kurt can move on with his life, the first thing he's going to do is to tell Blaine how he feels. He wants to move on with Blaine. He wants them to move on together, and isn't that an exciting thought in the middle of all the nervousness and fear and anxiety?

Time, however, doesn't slow or stop; it speeds past, and before Kurt even realizes it it's Saturday and he's standing backstage, hiding behind the heavy curtains and peering into the buzzing concert hall. The set designer Kurt mentioned to Blaine earlier is currently playing an old Broadway classic on the stage with a shining grand piano, having already played one short classical piece and gotten a thunderous applause from the audience. The orchestra is playing softly behind the man, and if Kurt didn't know Lucas he would wonder why on earth he gave up on piano in the first place.

He'd actually asked Lucas about it one day, several months ago when they were working on a project together. Lucas had shrugged.

"I figured that I can always be good at several things. I can be a good piano player, I can be an okay cook, I can be a mediocre singer and an average football player – but set design is my passion. The thing I want to do the most. Playing piano is relaxing and it will always be a part of me, but set design is the one thing that keeps me going, you know?"

Kurt does know.

He tears his eyes from Lucas' fingers flowing over the keys and looks at the audience. He can see Rachel and Wes in one corner – Rachel is wearing a stunning red dress (approved by Kurt, of course) and Wes has his phone pressed against his ear and a frown on his face. Kurt tries not to think about the reason for that frown too much. He can see Levinson and the other police officers and guards moving slowly around the hall, looking like ordinary guests to everyone else, except that some of them have an earpiece peeking out under their hair and collar. Then again, some of the organizers have earpieces as well, so Levinson wasn't lying when he said that the guards would blend in perfectly. Even Kurt wouldn't recognize them if he hadn't met them before and exchanged a few words with them before the concert.

It's unreal to think that all those people are there to make sure that _Kurt_ is safe, that they're here because of him, and Kurt can feel his heart starting to beat faster once again, right after he'd managed to calm it down for the fifth time. Of course he wants people to notice his talent, his costumes and his achievements – but he doesn't want them to worry about him or go through extra lengths for him. He wants to be safe, but after all those times in high school when no one seemed to care whether he was safe or not, it's weird to suddenly have his own army of security guards watching over him.

Felicia appears next to him and touches his shoulder gently. "Lucas is going to play one more song, and then we'll call you out on the stage."

"Okay." Kurt takes a deep breath. "How are the... Have you gotten any donations yet?" Focus on the practicalities, yes, that's a good idea.

Felicia smiles. "We have. I think this concert is going to be a success."

"That's great." Kurt allows himself to grin for a moment. Felicia gives him a thumbs up and leaves him to wring his hands, his fingers moving restlessly over the knuckles of his other hand and brushing the sleeves of his shirt. He's wearing gold pants and a metallic blazer, clothes that he himself designed to attract attention and to show that Kurt Hummel doesn't let anyone get him down. They're like an armor, like a costume that's keeping him together, and he feels safe in them. He has always felt safe in his own designs.

Lucas finishes the song to a thundering applause and then starts talking about his profession as a set designer and how that gave him the inspiration for the songs he's playing tonight. Kurt sighs and looks away. He shouldn't worry this much. Levinson has promised that his men and women are good people and that they will catch the stalker if he shows up. Still, the combination of mild stage fright and not-so-mild _oh god my stalker could be out there_ panic isn't exactly a good one.

Blaine is standing a few feet from him, wearing a discreet black suit, his own earpiece barely visible. He has more gel in his curls than Kurt has ever seen, his hair tamed into submission under a thick amount of shining gel, and he's keeping his posture straight and still. He's the epitome of a bodyguard to anyone who doesn't know him, but Kurt can see Blaine's finger tapping nervously against his thigh. He can't see Blaine as a bodyguard, not anymore.

He can see just Blaine.

"I'm afraid I'm going to trip over my own legs when I walk out there," Kurt says with a nervous laugh.

Blaine turns to look at him and smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. You're going to amaze them all."

Kurt blushes. "So you don't think the gold pants are a bit too much?"

"Do you?"

"No. Of course not." Kurt raises his chin with a grin. "I am the greatest star, and my clothes should reflect that."

Blaine tilts his head, taking another look of Kurt's clothes. "Then I have to agree with you."

Kurt smiles back at him. Is this flirting? Are they flirting with each other? Is Blaine thinking about moving on together as well? Lucas is playing the piano on the stage behind them, a soft melody echoing through the backstage and the hall, and Kurt suddenly thinks how romantic this scene could be if it wasn't for the nervous energy still running through his veins like a stream of freezing water.

Blaine takes a step towards him and fiddles with his ear piece with a smile. "I've never worn one of these before."

"You look very professional," Kurt jokes, but the words make Blaine's smile falter a little for a reason Kurt doesn't quite understand. He thought they were past this already. "I mean – you look great. You really do. That suit fits well."

Blaine rubs the back of his head with his hand. "Thanks." He cranes his neck and nods towards the stage. "You're up next, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Kurt gives a small laugh. "Three songs plus some small talk between them, no big deal."

"Are you nervous?" Blaine asks.

Kurt flexes his hands. "Of course. But not because I'm performing. I'm a lot more nervous every time a bunch of actors in costumes I have designed for them marches on the stage on an opening night. It's just..." He averts his eyes. "Knowing that he could be there. That he could be watching me, planning god knows what, and what if Levinson doesn't notice him, what if he's wearing some sort of disguise or what if he doesn't even show up, what if this has all been for nothing and I can't move on and I'm stuck with this stupid stalker forever and –"

"No, Kurt, stop." Blaine grabs his shoulders, holding him in place. "Stop that. It's going to be fine. You said you trusted me, so trust me on this one, okay? That anonymous stalker, he can't..." Blaine rubs his hands soothingly over Kurt's arms. "He can't touch you, or what you have. So don't let him."

Blaine's eyes are steady and calm, so sure and reassuring that Kurt can feel the panic deflate. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay. I'm just going to... take it easy."

"That sounds like a good idea." Blaine smiles. "And I'm here for you, alright? I'm going to keep you safe no matter what. And so are Levinson and all those other cops and security guards."

"I know. I just... I'm not used to something like this." Kurt waves his hand in the air, gesturing towards the thick curtains and the crowd in the concert hall. "I'm used to working in my own office, to drawing sketches and taking measurements and making sure everything matches. I'm not used to set-ups like this." He worries his lip between his teeth, a nervous habit he's had ever since he was a child.

Blaine swallows in front of him, and then his eyes dart briefly to Kurt's lips, his pupils dilated in the dim lighting of the backstage. Kurt is suddenly reminded of that rainy night after Geoffrey's birthday party, of standing impossibly close to Blaine in the dark hallway, of Blaine's warm breath ghosting over his own lips. But Blaine doesn't lean closer this time; he just lifts his gaze back to Kurt's eyes and gives a reassuring smile.

"I don't think anyone could get used to a set-up like this," Blaine says, as if he didn't just look at Kurt's lips, and Kurt almost kisses him right there and then, desperate to suddenly feel Blaine so much closer. He's going to perform in front of a packed concert hall and his crazy anonymous stalker – surely he deserves one kiss before that ordeal?

Blaine straightens the collar of Kurt's blazer. "But we're going to catch that stalker and put him away so that he can never bother you again, and you're going to go out there, and I know for a fact that you're going to be amazing. You're Kurt Hummel, how could you not be?" He says the words with such faith, such reverence, that Kurt has to duck his head. It's overwhelming how much faith Blaine seems to have in him, but it makes Kurt feel stronger than he has in years.

Lucas is playing the last notes of his song on the stage and it's Kurt’s turn soon, and if he's not going to get a kiss, he's going to at least get a hug. He flings his arms around Blaine, buries his face in the nook of Blaine's neck and breathes in Blaine's scent, the soft scent of his shampoo, of hair gel and something clean and warm. It takes a moment, but then Blaine's arms wrap themselves around Kurt as well, holding him in place, and Kurt closes his eyes, trying to memorize everything about Blaine to keep him strong when he walks on that stage.

"This better go well. I really want to move on already," Kurt whispers against Blaine's skin.

Blaine tenses almost unnoticeably under his arms, but whatever vocal reaction he gives is lost under Lucas' final note and the roar of the applause. Blaine squeezes Kurt one last time and then unwraps his arms gently. Kurt steps back almost involuntarily, wishing he could just skip the concert and hold Blaine in his arms for the rest of his life. It's not like he needs his arms for anything else anyway. He could probably draw designs with his toes or something. He's pretty flexible.

Blaine's eyes are shining for some odd reason but his smile is still encouraging and warm. "Go on then. Go show them what Kurt Hummel is made of. Try not to worry about the stalker for a moment and just... shine."

"Will you be here? Will you wait for me?" Kurt asks. The applause has quieted and Lucas walks past them, grinning at Kurt and disappearing towards his own dressing room. The host is introducing Kurt to the audience, and Kurt knows he has to go, he has to go sing his heart out and face everything in a few seconds, but he needs to know Blaine will be here when he's done.

Blaine's smile widens but something about it is off, like he's hiding something. "Of course I will. I'll be right here. That's what I'm here for."

"... _So here he is, the costume designer who's going to get very far – Kurt Hummel!_ "

Kurt grins at Blaine, not having enough time to ask him what's wrong anymore, not with the crowd already cheering. Kurt can hear Rachel's excited scream over everyone else's, so he starts to back away towards the stage, keeping his eyes on Blaine for a moment longer.

"Wish me luck. In every sense of the word," he says, a little breathless already. He can feel the warmth of the spotlights on his back and he should turn any second now, but he needs to see Blaine, he needs to see his smile before he faces the crowd and his stalker.

"Good luck. Not that you need it." Blaine's voice is loud enough for Kurt to hear it over the applause, and then there's Blaine's smile, calming and encouraging like it was all those months ago in Kurt's hallway and Kurt grins back at him, already thinking about how he can perhaps hug or even kiss Blaine after this concert, how he can finally say what he feels.

He turns his back on Blaine and walks on the stage, faces the audience and the blinding spotlights. He can do this. For Blaine. For the possibilities of them.

 

\---

 

As soon as Kurt turns his back and the spotlights reach his grinning face, Blaine's own smile falters and falls away. He feels a weird sense of emptiness inside of himself. Perhaps it's the part of him that's already preparing for a life without Kurt, for a life where he has to let Kurt go and let him shine on his own, without a bodyguard holding him down and reminding him of the awful months of his life when an anonymous fan stalked him. That's what Kurt seems to want and what he most certainly deserves.

Blaine is good at burying his own feelings deep down and not letting them out into broad daylight. He knew that caring about Kurt would hurt, he knew that he would only crash and burn, but he still did it. And he doesn't regret it; he could never regret anything about Kurt.

He only wishes that he could move on as well.

He shakes his head a little and looks at Kurt who is standing in the middle of stage and talking about the first song he's going to sing. Kurt makes a joke and the audience laughs, the bright lights are dancing on the blazer and on the gold pants Kurt is wearing, making him literally shine in front of the crowd, just like Blaine said he would.

Blaine smiles wistfully for a moment and then focuses. He lets his eyes scan the audience, or at least what he can see of it between the curtains. Wes catches his eye across the room and shakes his head, the message clear, and Blaine huffs. He really wants the stalker to be caught tonight. Blaine could never hope that the stalker would not show up just so he himself could have a few more days with Kurt. No, Blaine wants to put the stalker behind bars, wants to make him disappear from Kurt's life, no matter that it means Kurt moving on and Blaine getting left behind. He can deal with that. He can't deal with Kurt looking any sadder.

Blaine shrugs towards Wes, even if he can't probably see him, and continues scanning the room. He has memorized each little detail of the stalker's face, but the only faces he recognizes from the crowd are Wes and Rachel and a bunch of police officers. No stalker.

As the orchestra starts playing the first notes of _Maybe This Time_ Blaine allows himself a small smile. Somehow he knew that this would be Kurt's first song. He knew Kurt would sing something from _Cabaret_ , tell the audience some story of the costumes he designed for it and then show them that he might as well acted in the show. It's fitting, and Blaine knows Kurt likes it when things fit.

He glances towards Kurt swaying on the stage. He's heard Kurt sing this song before, but that was in a dingy bar with a scratchy karaoke machine as background music. Now there's an actual orchestra behind Kurt, with clarinets and a double bass and a grand piano, and they make Kurt sound even better if that's possible, braver and surer of himself, like he believes in the lyrics and isn't just singing them to show Rachel that he can. Blaine keeps his eyes on the audience, but his ears get lost in Kurt's voice, in its rises and falls, in the way it never falters or breaks, no matter how high the notes go.

When Kurt belts out the last note and the clarinetist plays the final melody, the audience starts cheering and whistling and clapping their hands immediately, and even from his spot behind the curtains Blaine can see how Kurt is blushing. How he's glowing and how everyone can see his blinding light, their eyes staying on him like moths moving towards a flame.

Blaine takes a shuddering breath, his chest suddenly hurting, his heart clenching like it's breaking apart. He doesn't know what to call the way he feels about Kurt. It's bigger than friendship, much bigger, more serious than a simple infatuation, and the only word he can find for it feels too much too soon. It feels a lot like heartbreak, like Blaine can't breathe properly but like he still craves for this feeling more than anything else, like he would give anything to make his heart keep hurting this way. Blaine has to wonder if this feeling is what all those novels he reads and all those songs he listens to are about, if this is what he was always looking for in the people he met.

Kurt is talking on the stage, the applause come and gone already, and Blaine snaps his attention back to the task at hand. He's distracted, too distracted when he really shouldn't be, and it won't do. He has promises to keep – _and miles to go before I sleep_ , supplies the English minor part of his brain, and it sounds surprisingly fitting.

"... so if there are any directors in the audience who are planning of doing _La Cage Aux Folles_ , sign me up as the costume designer. You should see the preliminary sketches I have hidden in my closet," Kurt quips with a wink, and the audience laughs good-naturedly.

The orchestra begins playing _I Am What I Am_ , Kurt's voice joining in after a few notes, first a little hesitant and almost breathless, but growing stronger and bolder with every word. When the rest of the instruments eventually join in, Kurt starts walking around the stage, completely owning the song, the expression on his face fittingly defiant. It's almost unfair how well all these confident and proud songs suit Kurt, how they seem to be written just for him.

A minute or two later the song ends with Kurt spreading his arms and throwing his head back, but Blaine just glances at him, ignores the painful twinge in his own heart. There's still no sign of the stalker, the police officers and the guards are still roaming the concert hall aimlessly, and Blaine is getting frustrated.

_Where the hell is he?_

"Thank you!" Now Kurt's voice definitely sounds breathless over the microphone. Rachel cheers one last time, making Kurt huff out a laugh, and then the audience quiets. Kurt takes a few steps on the stage, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead as Blaine watches him from the corner of his eye. "And thank you for donating, if you have already! I know personally how important art programs are in schools, so thank you. They can literally save lives."

Blaine can't see the stalker, can't spot him from the audience, and the piece pressed against his ear stays silent. Maybe he should just concentrate on Kurt for the last song. Levinson and his team can take care of the hall. After all, that's why Blaine chose this place – to see Kurt on the stage at all times. This could be the last time he can hear Kurt sing, so he might as well enjoy it fully.

"This last song," Kurt is explaining, "isn't from any Broadway show. I know, I know, I'm once again breaking the rules. I don't even know if any of you remember this song – I listened and sang along to it when I was younger, a lot younger than I am now, and then forgot everything about it for years. But earlier this month..." Kurt glances quickly towards the curtains, towards the place where Blaine is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and Blaine smiles even though it hurts, even though Kurt can't probably make out his face with the bright spotlights and the shadows over the backstage.

Even so, Kurt's own smile widens before he turns back to look at the audience. "Earlier this month I heard it on the radio, on some radio station that plays older songs and that my... Um." He hesitates. "That my assistant... My friend insists on listening to everyday."

Blaine tilts his head, confused, and Kurt glances towards him again.

"Anyway. I kind of like the lyrics, so here it is, the last song I'll be singing tonight. Back to designing costumes after this, thank goodness." He rolls his eyes. "Thank you."

The crowd gives a small applause, and then the pianist starts, the even notes filling the air for a few measures until the strings join in, the noise growing but still staying gentle and calm. The arrangement is different, focusing on the piano and the strings instead of the guitar and the drums, but Blaine can still recognize the song. He looks at Kurt, who takes a deep breath and then opens his mouth, the words soft and tender, and Blaine's heart is breaking again, fighting against his ribcage and his muscles, wanting to hold on and to break free and run at the same time. It feels like heartbreak, like goodbye, like there isn't enough air, like Kurt takes Blaine's breath away.

" _The dawn is breaking, a light shining through. You're barely waking, and I'm tangled up in you..._ "

They had been making dinner one evening, some fancy dish that Kurt had wanted to try out and that had required so many preparations that Blaine had already lost sight of all the sauces he'd stirred and all the pans he'd washed. Kurt had let Blaine pick out the radio station once again, and Blaine had picked the one that sometimes plays Katy Perry or songs he remembers from his childhood, Hanson or Spice Girls or other oldies that Cooper had owned on cassette and later on CDs.

Kurt had been checking the temperature of the meat when the song had started, all guitar and rhythm, and Blaine had started to hum along, swaying his body while stirring another pot of something complicated.

Kurt had looked at him for a moment and then laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "This song? Really, Blaine? Isn't it a bit cliché or... I don't know, silly? Even for you?"

Blaine had shaken his head. "Nope. Besides, there's a little bit of truth behind every cliché."

When Kurt had turned his head away with a blush Blaine had realized what he'd just said, about a love song of all things, and had nearly smacked himself with the spoon. But then Kurt had started to hum as well, with a low voice and with his mouth curled up in a smile, and the stutter in Blaine's heartbeat had turned into a full-blown skipping.

After the song they'd smiled shyly at each other, delicious smells wafting in the air between them, until the commercial break on the radio station had broken the mood.

That could have been the moment – the moment when Blaine realized that he actually does have feelings for Kurt, no matter how hard he tries to deny or ignore them. It took him another day or two to actually acknowledge them, but it probably was that moment, now that he thinks about it. Blaine has always been better at expressing himself through music, better at feeling things with the help of a song, so of course it would take a love song for him to realize that the lyrics remind him of Kurt and that the last ounces of his professionalism just jumped out of the window with a delighted cackle.

" _Don't stop here, I lost my place. I'm close behind._ "

The strings and the piano are playing faster on the stage, and Kurt has his eyes closed, the words pouring out of him like he can't hold them in. For a moment Blaine feels a sudden hope fill up the emptiness inside of him. Kurt is singing a love song, a love song he hummed along to with Blaine, and that must mean something, there must be something more behind this all. Maybe... Could Blaine even dare to hope? He doesn't want to screw things up, he doesn't want to care too much and end up failing again, end up with a broken heart once again. Still, what could be wrong with a little bit of hope?

Kurt talks about moving on, but then he looks at Blaine like he's something extraordinary, something unreal, sings a love song about how things will work out, and Blaine doesn't know whether he should trust his head or his heart. Or Kurt. Whether he should move on or let himself collide.

He's still conflicted when the song draws to a close, the pianist slowing on the last few notes. The audience is silent for a second or two, and then the applause suddenly erupts into a standing ovation, people whistling and stomping. Kurt opens his eyes, gives a small bow, and then his eyes are on Blaine again, boring into Blaine as he bows again and again and starts walking off the stage. Blaine barely hears Levinson's voice in his ear, saying something about them coming backstage so Kurt and Blaine should stay there, and then Kurt's already there, slipping between the curtains and breathing heavily in front of Blaine, a small sheen of sweat shining on his forehead.

"Well," Kurt says with a blinding smile. "How did I do?"

Blaine swallows, trying to find his voice again. "You... You were amazing. Like I said you would be."

Kurt ducks his head with a laugh. "Thank you."

"Do you... Don't you miss it?" Blaine asks. Surely there can be no way for Kurt to be such an amazing performer and not want to do it for the rest of his life.

"What, performing?" Kurt scrunches up his nose. "I do, a little. I've always enjoyed it. But it's... It's like a thing I want to do for fun. I don't want to take it too seriously and dedicate all my life to it. Costume design is the thing I want to dedicate most of my time to. It's my passion, the thing I'm most good at."

"I know." Blaine lowers his gaze. "I just... You were so amazing, Kurt, but I know your designs are amazing as well and that they are more important to you."

"You're spoiling me with the compliments, Blaine, stop it –"

"Kurt!"

A flurry of something red and excited slams into Kurt, making him stumble with a soft _oof_. Blaine blinks and then recognizes the figure as Rachel who is clinging to Kurt and talking one hundred words per second about how wonderful and amazing and perfect Kurt was and how Rachel knew he would shine almost as brightly as she would in a similar situation and how he should have also sung this song or that.

There's a hand on Blaine's shoulder and then Wes' concerned face appears in front of him, as if Wes already knows how conflicted Blaine's emotions are right now. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Blaine answers automatically, pushing his feelings back down again. "How are things out there? Any signs of the stalker?"

Wes sighs. "None yet. Levinson thinks we might have missed something, but... Well, there he is himself."

Levinson joins their little group at that moment, scratching his thinning hair. He gives a nod to Kurt, who is still struggling to get Rachel to calm down, and then turns to look at Blaine. "You seen him?"

Blaine shakes his head. "Not even a glimpse. You?"

"Nope. I can't help feeling like there's something we've forgotten, but I just can't put my finger on it." Levinson shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

Kurt finally manages to get free from Rachel's enthusiastic hug and smiles at Levinson. "It's not like it's your fault. Besides, he might still show up. There are still several performers left and Felicia said something about an open mike if she can get the audience drunk enough..."

"So Kurt – how did it feel, performing again?" Rachel interrupts, smoothing Kurt's sleeves.

Kurt blinks and turns to look at her. "Um. Honestly? Like I was putting on a show." He shakes his head and laughs. "The best damn show I've done in years and I looked fabulous, but I just kept missing my sketch book." His face turns serious. "I just... I just really want to move on already. That's what I kept thinking about when I was singing."

"Well, you sang one or two powerful songs traditionally sung by very independent characters, so no wonder," Rachel quips with a shake of her head, leaning against Kurt's shoulder. Kurt glances quickly at Blaine but then smiles down at Rachel, giving her a one-handed hug.

"Don't worry, we'll catch that son of a bitch," Levinson says gruffly. "Hopefully today. Then you can move as far on as you want."

Kurt squeezes Rachel. "I'd like that."

Blaine swallows roughly, the emptiness inside of him starting to clench again. _Move on_. Of course. How could he even think for a moment that Kurt would... Blaine should know better by now, and Kurt deserves to be free of everything, of anonymous stalkers and bodyguards and police officers. That's what he was thinking when he was singing those strong songs, that and nothing else, and Blaine just has to accept it.

His phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket, startling him. "Excuse me," he mutters, walking a few steps away from the others. He knows he should stay close to Kurt at all times, but Kurt is surrounded by Rachel and Wes and Levinson right now and they're standing at the side, clear from everyone else. There should be no danger if Blaine takes a moment of privacy to check his phone. To check his emotions.

Wes' worried eyes follow him, but Blaine turns his back on the others, fishing his phone from his pocket. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to quell the pain. Who knew that just the thought of leaving Kurt behind, of Kurt not having the same feelings as him could hurt this much, like his whole heart is being ripped in half in his chest and then being squashed into pulp. Blaine has been hurt before, but he's never been hurt this much with just a thought, a very real possibility, and somehow it feels even worse than he imagined.

His phone buzzes again, so Blaine exhales slowly, imagines his feelings flowing back inside their cage, and then opens the text messages that are flashing on his screen.

 

 **From Cooper:**  
Hey little brother, I hope everything's going alright at that concert!  
Call me when you're done? I wanna know you're okay.

 **From Cooper:**  
Also: You're not going to fail.

 

Blaine smiles at the messages. God, he misses Cooper. When this is all over, when the wonderful days he had with Kurt are over, he's going to go back to LA and sit in Cooper's living room again and talk to him face to face for hours, just like they did when they were kids. He's going to need it.

Blaine puts his phone back into his pocket and lifts his head. The backstage is still dim, the muffled voices of someone talking on the stage echoing through the empty space, and Kurt, Rachel, Wes and Levinson are behind him, discussing something in low voices. Only a few other people are wandering around. Blaine recognizes Felicia's red hair and two or three people he remembers seeing when he and Kurt visited the venue for the first time. He should probably go back to the others, but he needs to take a few more calming breaths, to let his feelings get drowned under logic and professionalism once again.

A tall slender man wearing similar clothes as the other organizers and waiters walks past Blaine, heading towards Kurt and the others, and something about his face catches Blaine's eye. His hair doesn't look that familiar, light-colored locks tamed carefully under hairspray, and he's wearing thick-framed glasses, but his face is...

Oh god.

Blaine's feet are moving before he realizes it, catching up with the man in a few long strides, making a grab for his arm without even thinking. He only knows that he needs to stop the man, stop him from getting any closer to Kurt; Kurt, who's going to move on and be happy and have everything he's ever wished for. Blaine doesn't know how the man is suddenly here, why none of the guards or police officers haven't noticed him already, why Blaine is once again the only one who recognizes him (thank goodness for good face memory). There's only one thought running through his mind, drowning everything else out, drowning his feelings and doubts and wishes and fears, the thought repeating the words _stop him stop him stop him stophimstophimstophimstophim_ so fast that it feels like his brain is going to short-circuit soon.

"Wait, stop...!" Blaine exclaims, his fingers gripping the man's arm tightly.

The man does stop, time slowing down and Blaine's brain speeding up. The man looks down on Blaine's hand on his arm, almost like he's surprised or curious, and then he lifts his head, his mouth falling open. His face is clearer than Blaine remembers now that they're standing one on one and not staring back at each other from a grainy surveillance photo or across a dark ballroom. A part of Blaine's brain, the only part that isn't screaming self-defense moves or exclamations at him, seems almost surprised how nondescript the man looks, a bit like the plain white envelopes he's been sending to Kurt.

Then the man's face screws up in sudden anger, his eyes flashing as he stares at Blaine. "You –"

The word is said like it's spit out, time moves faster again, and out of the corner of his eye Blaine can see the man drawing his arm back, pulling against Blaine's hand. Blaine dodges the first simple punch aimed towards his shoulder and keeps holding on, keeps the man in place. The audience is clapping out in the concert hall, a roaring sound that seems to swallow all the other voices. There is a hand gripping Blaine, pushing him away, but he doesn't let go, he fights, he can fight now, he isn't helpless like he was all those years ago at a school dance in a cold parking lot.

One of his fists connects with flesh, a boxing move against a living target. The man stumbles backwards but doesn't let go of Blaine, recovering quickly and reaching for something in his pocket. It's all a busy blur; the man is taller than Blaine and surprisingly strong, but he's not as strong as Blaine, not as determined as Blaine. Blaine has someone he wants to and needs to protect, and he's not going to fail, not anymore.

He's this close to detaining the struggling man, to shouting something that sounds a lot like Levinson's name –

And then he feels something hit him.

It's like a punch to his gut, a little to his side, knocking the breath out of him and draining all the voices from his ears – the applause, the muffled words, the heavy breathing of the man standing too close to him. It feels different. It feels quieter. Blaine knows what fists feel like when they hit his flesh, but this doesn't feel like a fist. It feels colder and sharper and... metallic.

There are suddenly hands pulling the man away from him, angry faces that look like the guards Blaine met briefly before the concert, except their faces are all contorted and wrong. The not-fist withdraws from his stomach in one swift movement as the man is pulled back, and Blaine gasps and stumbles backwards, his legs shaky and unsure, looks at the man who's fighting futilely against the guards and yelling something, spit flying from his mouth.

The man has a knife in his hand. Blaine has barely managed to wonder how it got there when he notices that even in the dim lighting it's clear that the blade is covered in something red.

Blood.

Wait. That's his blood.

Blaine is suddenly falling, falling backwards for so long that it feels like he's never going to hit the ground. He can't see anything except the faint lights above the backstage, and then his head bounces off the floor, the sounds rush back, screams and yells and a mess of other voices, all of them blending in together, and with them pain – so much _pain_ in Blaine's body. He yells as well, one exhausted yelp until he has to gasp for breath, and why is it suddenly so hard to breathe, why is something sticking to his hand when he presses it against the place where the pain is the worst, why are there so many desperate voices –

"Blaine!"

A broken scream, hoarse and watery, and then Kurt's face is above his, his hands hovering over Blaine's body like he doesn't know what to do. Kurt has tears in his eyes, his face looks so scared, and Blaine wants to reach out and tell him that it's alright, that everything is fine, but he doesn't have the energy to talk, the edges of his vision are starting to blur, the voices becoming fragmentary and merged together.

"Oh my god –"

"Did you call an ambulance already?"

"Jesus Christ."

"Do you have him? Do you –"

"Blaine, Blaine. Blaine..."

Kurt's fingers in his hair, stroking gently, and Blaine blinks up at him, trying to clear his vision because he wants to see Kurt, he needs to see that Kurt is alright, that Kurt is safe.

"Blaine, you – you need to stay awake, okay? Don't you dare close your eyes, you need to keep them open, can you do that for me? Blaine? Blaine, say something. Or should you save your energy, I don't know what to do in a situation like this, Blaine please..."

Kurt is crying. His voice is breaking. He needs to stop crying, Blaine needs to help him.

"K-Kurt," he manages to gasp out. He can't see much anymore, the blurring getting closer to the center of his vision, dimming and dulling like everything is getting heavier and heavier. Maybe the darkness is a good thing. The more his vision blurs, the less it hurts, so that must be a good thing, hurting less is always a good thing, and if Kurt is crying then he's still alive, he's still here, which means that he's safe, he's okay, Blaine didn't fail. He didn't fail.

"No, Blaine, you shouldn't talk, but don't fall asleep, okay? Can you do that for me? Blaine? Just please, stay awake, you need to stay awake, I need you to..."

Blaine blinks slowly, once, twice, three times, his eyelids getting heavier each time. He opens and closes his mouth and tries to get the words out. He should say something soothing. Kurt's voice is already fading away, starting to sound more and more desperate. Blaine can't remember why he's lying on the cold floor anymore. It should probably remind him of Sadie Hawkins, but he's too tired for flashbacks right now, and Kurt is here so it can't be Sadie Hawkins, that happened years and years before Kurt, and maybe this is just a dream, maybe he's actually lying on the guest room bed with Kurt tangled around him and the soft morning light drifting in through the drapes.

Maybe he should just close his eyes. That sounds like a good idea.

"Blaine?"

The voice sounds like it's coming from far away, from another reality, and Blaine can't concentrate anymore. His eyes slip closed and the words on his tongue slip away, the voices and feelings and coldness seeping away until there's nothing left but comforting and numb darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a medical professional, but I tried to do some research for this chapter. Still, apologies for any inaccuracies.

Kurt hates hospitals. He hates the smell, the colors, the sounds, the whole atmosphere, but even more than hospitals he hates the things that are separating him from Blaine right now – the paramedics, the police officers asking too many questions, the ambulance, the glass doors of the hospital, the doctors and nurses who come and go and repeat the same words over and over again. All of them are keeping him away from Blaine, leaving him with the image of Blaine lying on the floor with his eyes closed and his mouth dropped open.

The words are the same every time. Severe blood loss (how is that possible, Kurt was holding his hands against the wound before the paramedics arrived, the blood seeping between his fingers and staining his jacket, Blaine's blood) – and a concussion, from Blaine's head hitting the floor when he fell (fell because the stalker had stabbed him, the anonymous fan who was moving towards Kurt and who attacked when he saw Blaine, when Blaine tried to stop him, when Blaine was protecting Kurt).

Then there are the more hopeful words: how the knife miraculously missed all of Blaine's organs, and the nurses keep saying how lucky Blaine was, how a few inches to the left or to the right could have made the whole situation a lot more complicated. Kurt wants to scream because how isn't this complicated enough, Blaine is in a hospital and his blood is still staining Kurt's hands, and they won't let him see Blaine, why can't he see him, he _needs_ to see him –

Rachel is suddenly there; she wraps her arms around Kurt and holds him when his knees buckle, guides him to a chair and doesn't let go. Rachel knows that Kurt and hospitals don't get along, so she whispers sweet nothings into his ear, and Kurt lets her, even though he normally hates empty platitudes. Wes appears as well, looking more agitated than Kurt has ever seen him. His tie is missing and his jacket is completely askew, and he keeps scratching his head and pacing, something Kurt has also never seen him do before.

Kurt vaguely hears Rachel ask about the stalker, hears Wes explain that the police had taken him away in handcuffs, how the stalker had apparently confessed everything immediately when he'd realized he had nowhere to go. The words barely register in Kurt's mind – he keeps staring at his hands, at the dried red stains on his palms, almost the same color as Rachel's dress, and he absent-mindedly wonders if he'll ever get them off.

It's too long before the doctor comes back, smiles reassuringly and says the three magic words: Blaine is stable. He's not completely out of the woods yet, but he's out of surgery, and they have given him some strong drugs to keep him unconscious and to ease the pain. The doctor mentions the name of the drug and various other details, but Kurt forgets them immediately. All he can hear is that Blaine is stable – that he should be fine. He will be, that's the only answer Kurt will accept.

"Can I see him?" he blurts out before the doctor is even finished, the first coherent words he has spoken since Blaine's eyes closed.

The doctor blinks. "Oh. Well, like I said, he's unconscious and he needs the rest. Technically the visiting hours are already over and you're not family, so I'm afraid..."

Wes looks to Kurt and then back to the doctor. "Can we just see him really quickly? Please?"

The doctor looks at the three of them, taking in the state they're in, and sighs. "Alright. But I'll only let you see him briefly from the doorway. I'm afraid that's all I can do."

Rachel keeps her arm wrapped around Kurt's shoulders when they reach the door to Blaine's room. Blaine is lying on a bed, a few machines beeping quietly around him. Kurt knows how clichéd it is, but Blaine really does look smaller in a hospital bed. He's already small in stature, Kurt knows that – he'd immediately noticed that Blaine is shorter than him, and sometimes when Blaine is feeling uncomfortable he hunches his shoulders in a way that makes him look even smaller – but here and now Blaine looks... tiny. Tiny and vulnerable and so very still, and Kurt wants to rush into the room and wake him up, see his smile and his kind eyes again.

Kurt can't help but think how wrong the blank hospital room is in every way. Blaine isn't the color white, he's light brown and red and green and other bright colors, and he certainly isn't this motionless, only his chest moving slowly with his breaths. Even when Blaine is sleeping or reading, even when he's completely lost inside his mind, his eyes, his eyebrows or his eyelids are always moving, his fingers twitching or his feet tapping to some beat only he can hear, and it's not _right_ , Blaine lying in a hospital is not right.

Kurt hears a soft sob, and only when Rachel's arm tightens around him does he realize that the sound came from him.

"I'm sorry," the doctor says, sounding genuine, and gestures for them to move away. Kurt's feet won't move, and Rachel has to practically drag him away from the doorway.

They make it back to the waiting room, Kurt sinking into one of the uncomfortable chairs again. His hands are trembling, and Rachel takes them, rubbing his fingers gently with her own, but Rachel's fingers are too small and thin, too soft and feminine. It doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right.

Wes sighs and scratches his head again. "Look, Kurt... Maybe you should go home."

Kurt doesn't lift his head. "No."

"We can't see Blaine until tomorrow and I don't think you're in any condition to sit here all night," Wes tries to reason. "Kurt, seriously. As your agent and as your friend I'm telling you: Blaine is going to be fine. So please, go home and get some rest. I'm going to wait for Blaine's parents to get here, so I can call you if anything happens."

Kurt raises his head and wipes his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. He feels tired, exhausted even, and he wants nothing more than to go home and lie next to Blaine on the guest room bed, wrap his arms around Blaine's torso and talk about nothing and everything. But Blaine won't be there.

"I don't want to leave him," Kurt chokes out.

Wes' smile is gentle but final. "I know. But you need to rest. And so does he."

"I can come with you," Rachel pipes up, already rising from her seat.

"No, I... Thanks, Rach, but I think I want to be alone right now," Kurt sighs. He doesn't have the energy to be stubborn right now, so he finally gets up, wiping his cheeks again. It's not the absolute truth, wanting to be alone, but if he can't be with Blaine right now he doesn't want to be with anyone else.

"Are you sure? I mean... Do you feel safe being alone?" Rachel tilts her head, her eyes concerned and hesitant.

Kurt drags his hand over his face. "Yeah. I'm sure. I think I'll get some sleep and then come back here tomorrow." He straightens his back. "Besides, the stalker was caught, right? So I should be alright."

“You will be. I'll get one of the police officers to give you a ride and even stay outside your door if you think it's necessary," Wes says. He looks around and then gestures for the officer that has been hovering nearby. They talk for a while before Wes nods at Kurt, marking that everything is settled. Rachel squeezes Kurt's hand, and Wes tells him to call him if he needs anything – "anything, Kurt, okay?" – and Kurt just nods.

He knows he should be relieved that the stalker is caught and that this whole thing is over – Levinson had assured him of that several times, even though the words barely registered in Kurt's mind at that moment – but it's difficult to feel anything other than the dull and aching emptiness as he walks away from the waiting room, away from Blaine, the police officer trailing next to him. He wants to stay so badly, wants to sit in the waiting room until the visiting hours start and until Blaine wakes up and smiles again, but Wes made a valid point. Blaine needs to rest. Blaine needs to get better, as soon as possible. And if Kurt can ensure that by going home, by fighting against his instincts screaming inside of him, then he will damn sure do it.

 

\---

 

It's half past two in the morning when the police officer drops him off at his apartment. Kurt drags himself to the elevator, not saying a word to the doorman, and finally sags against the familiar door when he gets inside his apartment. Slowly he takes off his blazer and his tie, draping them carefully. Then he toes off his shoes, rolls up his sleeves and moves mechanically to the kitchen to wash his hands, scrubbing them almost too hard. For once he doesn't care about damaging his skin – he just wants the red stains out of his hands, wants the image of Blaine blinking his eyes slowly until he goes lax in Kurt's arms out of his mind.

After his hands are clean, so clean that they itch, he makes his way to the living room, collapsing on the sofa. The apartment is quiet and dark, too quiet. He could call his dad (he probably should do that), or send a message to Rachel saying that he's changed his mind, that he needs some company after all.

He doesn't.

Some of Blaine's books and notes are still on the sofa table, scattered among Kurt's sketches and pencils. It reminds Kurt of their lives, how intertwined they've become, and it's the books that finally make his heart constrict in his chest until he bends over with a painful sob and lets the tears fall. The apartment is _too_ quiet – he can't hear Blaine boxing in the guest room, can't hear him doing the dishes in the kitchen, can't hear him humming along to the songs in his head, can't hear him strumming his guitar and talking about his hopes and dreams, can't hear his laugh, and everything feels wrong. Everything feels... lonely.

Kurt scrambles off the sofa and almost runs to the guest room, to Blaine's room. Blaine's guitar is propped up against the chair, his punching bag completely still in the corner. The bed is neatly made because that's Blaine, polite and proper even when the world is going crazy around him with anonymous letters and obsessive stalkers. Kurt flops down on the bed, burying his face in the pillows. It doesn't feel so lonely in here – he can smell Blaine on the pillows (Blaine's shampoo and sweat and something else, something just _Blaine_ ), and he knows that Blaine's clothes are in the closet, that Blaine's books and laptop are right next to the bed.

Blaine is going to be okay. The doctor had said that, and Wes wouldn't have sent Kurt home if it wasn't true. Blaine's going to be okay, Blaine saved Kurt, Blaine jumped in front of the stalker because he was trying to save Kurt and that's why he got hurt, and that makes everything ten times worse because Blaine was just doing his job, but at the same time Kurt knows he wasn't just a bodyguard at that moment – _there's a little bit of truth behind every cliché_ , and the soft smile on Blaine's face, the way his eyes had darted to Kurt's lips right before Kurt went on stage.

He didn't imagine that. He couldn't have.

He's feeling way too much, scared and relieved and sad and happy and stressed and tired and worried and confused and so, so lonely in this empty apartment. As Kurt turns over and looks at the ceiling he wonders when Blaine became such an essential part of his life, wonders if he was this lonely before he met Blaine.

And that's the thought that breaks him, the figurative straw that breaks the camel's back, because he was, wasn't he? He was just better at ignoring it, at pretending like it didn't matter.

 

\---

 

"Come on, Kurt. Time to wake up."

Kurt blinks his eyes open slowly, trying to focus them. "B-Blaine?" he whispers when he sees the figure sitting next to him, rough fingers stroking his arm in a calming motion. The fingers don't feel like Blaine's, too big and bulky and calloused, but Kurt's mind is disoriented for a moment, hoping for things that cannot be before his memory catches up on him.

"Sorry, buddy. Not Blaine."

Kurt's vision clears. His dad is sitting on the guest room bed next to him, wearing a flannel shirt and the same old baseball cap, and his face is sad in a way that Kurt hasn't seen it look like in a long time. Kurt panics for a moment, afraid of what might have happened – did someone die, did something awful happen, what's going on, why is his dad here – and then his memory finally does catch up, last night rushing back with Blaine lying on the backstage floor, blood staining his black suit, and then the hospital, Blaine looking so small and still and pale, and oh god, Kurt's going to be sick.

He forcefully swallows down the bile rising up in his throat and looks at his dad again. Burt smiles at him, the same reassuring smile he used to have on his face when Kurt was nine and had a nightmare about his mom. Burt Hummel has always been far more observant than people give him credit for.

Kurt clears his throat, trying to get the sandpapery feeling to go away. "D-dad. What... How are you here?"

Burt ruffles Kurt's hair gently, and for once Kurt doesn't mind. "We were gonna come here anyway, no matter what you said about everything being fine. There's no way in hell I'm going to let my kid face some crazy stalker by himself." He scratches the back of his head, looking disappointed. "But then our flight was, eh, cancelled. So we had to drive, and the traffic was terrible, so we couldn't get here on time for the concert. And when we did get here Rachel called us. She, um... She told us everything."

"We?" Kurt repeats, rubbing his eyes, slowly sitting up and untangling the blanket from his legs.

"Finn's in the kitchen trying to figure out your coffee machine and Carole's out buying food."

"Oh. You all came?" Kurt lowers his hands to his lap. The sheets still smell like Blaine, the whole room does, and there's a novel on the bedside table, a bookmark peeking from it, marking the pages Blaine has already read. Kurt can feel the tears starting to build up inside of him again, the fear and shock and anxiety, and his breath hitches softly, like he's a small child trying to stop the tears from falling.

Except he has no reason to stop them, not with his dad here.

"Kurt..." Burt says, the simple name full of everything, and Kurt leans forward, buries his face into his dad's chest, into the soft flannel that will always make him think of home. Burt wraps his arms around him and doesn't say anything. He's not the kind of man for idle sweet nothings; he knows what to say and when to say it, and Kurt has always appreciated that.

 

\---

 

After Finn has given him an awkward but worried hug ("dude, I'm so sorry about that Blaine guy and everything"), after Carole has forced some food into him and after Kurt has called Rachel to let her know he's relatively fine, Burt drives Kurt to the hospital. The whole drive consists of Burt asking if Kurt's alright, if he should be out by himself and if he's absolutely and one-hundred percent safe. When they reach the hospital Kurt looks at his dad with his eyebrows raised, and Burt finally sighs and retreats to the hospital cafeteria, muttering to himself that he's going to wait there for his stubborn kid. Kurt watches him go, his heart feeling a little bit lighter now that his family is here, and then stops the first nurse that walks past him to ask her where he can find the correct ward.

It takes a while, too many white corridors and too many doors that look alike, his mind occupied by too many thoughts, and when Kurt finally finds the right room Wes is just leaving. He's still wearing the same clothes he was last night, but his collar is rumpled and his sleeves are rolled up.

"Hey," Wes breathes out when he notices Kurt. He looks tired but relieved, and Kurt lets the faint hope tug at his heart.

"Is he...?" Kurt starts. He doesn't know how to finish the question, so he just gestures towards the room Wes just walked out of.

Wes smiles. "He's awake. Cooper and his parents are still with him, so you should probably give them some time."

"Yes, of course." Kurt wrings his hands. "Did they... I mean, how did they..."

"I called them last night as soon as I could." Wes rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Cooper was luckily staying at Westerville for a few days, so they all took the first flight here. The previous two flights had been cancelled, so I guess they had some luck."

Kurt nods. "Have you... Have you spoken with the doctors?" He's hesitating with his words more than he usually does, but the fear is back again, gnawing at his insides and making him feel like he wants to squirm or rush into the room and see Blaine immediately.

Wes' smile widens into a full-blown grin, something Kurt hasn't seen often on his face. "I have. They said that Blaine should make a full recovery. They're going to keep him here for a few days, to make sure everything's alright, and then he has to take it easy for some time, but he should be alright. Just some scars, but they'll fade with time."

Kurt releases the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and leans against the cold hospital wall. "Thank god."

"Don't worry. Blaine always bounces back. It's what he does." Wes checks his watch. "Ugh, I need to get going. I want to go home and kiss my wife and have a shower." He frowns. "Not necessarily in that order because a shower sounds amazing right now. Oh, right –" He turns to look at Kurt. "Are you... Do you want me to get you another bodyguard?"

Kurt's head snaps up. "What? Why would I need another bodyguard? The stalker's in custody, right?"

"Yes, of course he is – and he's not getting out anytime soon after everything he's done – but I just thought that if you're feeling unsafe without a bodyguard or something..."

"Oh." Kurt blinks. "No, it's alright. My family actually came here last night. My dad's waiting for me in the cafeteria, so..."

He doesn't say that he just needs to see Blaine, needs to make sure that he's alright with his own eyes, and then everything will truly be alright. His mind has been in such a turmoil that he hasn't even stopped to think whether he's feeling safe or not, but knowing that Blaine's fine, that everything's going to be fine, that his dad will wait for him no matter how long he's going to stay here... He never needed a bodyguard to make him feel safe, a quiet muscular man standing behind him with sunglasses over his eyes, like the stereotype that Kurt had first seen in his mind's eye. He just needed the people he cares about and who care about him.

Wes nods and pulls on his coat. "Alright then. But let me now if anything happens or changes, okay? And I'm not just saying this as your agent, but as your –"

"I know, Wes. Thank you." Kurt smiles but does a double take when he realizes how rumpled Wes' coat actually is. "Wait, were you here all night?"

Wes raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"You sent me home because I looked tired and then stayed here for over twelve hours yourself?"

"You needed the rest, Kurt. You looked like you were about to collapse, so I stayed here instead of you." Wes straightens his collar. "Besides, Blaine is basically my best friend. I will always stay for him." He shrugs like it's not a big deal, like everything he did makes perfect sense to him.

Kurt buries his face in his hands. "Oh god. I almost had a breakdown last night, and I didn't even think about the fact that you're Blaine's friend and that this must have been hard for you as well. Wes, I'm so sorry –"

Wes waves his hand. "Don't worry about it. I've always excelled under extreme stress."

Kurt lifts his head and gives Wes a smile – it's small, but it's still a smile. Blaine is going to heal as good as new and Wes is still Wes, still so sure of everything he does, and Kurt has never been happier to have him as his agent and friend. Everything is alright, or at least it's going to be, and Kurt can smile again. He can let himself relax again.

Wes checks his phone. "I've got to go for real. Sarah's probably worried sick already. Give me call if you need anything?"

Kurt nods. Wes gives him a wave and then disappears down the hallway, trying to smooth over his coat in vain. Kurt watches him go and then leans his head against the wall. He always knew there was a reason why he chose Wes to be his agent when he first started working as a costume designer. It had nothing to do with Wes' reasonable salary but a lot to do with his reasonable attitude and the connections he has to different people – but the biggest reason was that Kurt could immediately see that Wes cares about his clients because they are actual human-beings, not just because they are his clients. It's no wonder he and Blaine are friends.

Kurt stands waiting in the hallway for several minutes, absent-mindedly scratching his arm and constantly wishing he could just run into Blaine's room and see him with his own eyes. The door next to him is closed completely, and Kurt can only hear muffled and disconnected words from the room. He's not even able to distinguish Blaine's voice from the others. It's frustrating, being so close but so far, but Kurt still has his manners. He's not going to interrupt whatever conversation Blaine is having with his parents and his brother, not when Blaine was just stabbed and his family must be out of their minds with worry. Kurt knows he himself is.

He has just started to tap his foot against the floor when the door to Blaine's hospital room opens and an older couple walks out with their arms around each other. The man is tall and has the same curly hair as Blaine, whereas the woman is remarkably shorter and lighter in her build. The man has deep lines on his forehead and his hair is a mess, like he has run his fingers through his curls several times, and it reminds Kurt of the way Blaine's hair sometimes looks like in the mornings. The woman is smiling through watery eyes, saying something softly to her husband and then laughing melodically. Kurt watches them go, not wanting to interrupt the private moment they're obviously having. It's weird to see some familiar features on their faces – the same curve of the eyebrows or the same line of the nose, pieces of two different puzzles that are combined into one person in Blaine.

"Are you Kurt?"

Kurt startles and turns to look at the tall man suddenly standing next to him. He apparently came from Blaine's room while Kurt was watching Blaine's parents. The man doesn't look a lot like Blaine – his eyes are blue where Blaine's are brown, his hair wavy where Blaine's is curly – but all those details don't matter. Kurt has seen this man on TV, has had his voice as his ringtone when he was in high school and has perhaps fantasized about meeting him when he was young and silly. Talk about awkward right now.

"I am," he says. "Kurt Hummel. You must be Cooper Anderson. It's nice to meet you."

He extends his hand and Cooper takes it, giving it a firm shake. The handshake seems to melt whatever apprehension Cooper has, because he suddenly shakes his head with a laugh and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture reminding Kurt of Blaine.

"Geez, you're not what I expected." Cooper grins. "Not that I even know what exactly I was expecting."

Kurt tilts his head. "Excuse me?"

"Blainey has been talking about you non-stop ever since he came here, so I sort of feel like I know you already," Cooper explains. "But don't worry, I don't mean that in a creepy way."

He winks exaggeratedly, and Kurt blushes. It's easy to see that Cooper and Blaine are brothers when Cooper is acting exactly like Blaine does when he's feeling silly. Except Cooper seems to be even more ridiculous.

Kurt clears his throat. "Look, Mr. Anderson..."

"Cooper, please. Dad's Mr. Anderson, and I'm not old enough to be identified with him yet." Cooper rolls his eyes.

"Alright." Kurt takes a deep breath, lifts his gaze and meets Cooper's eyes. "Cooper, I'm... I'm so sorry your brother got hurt."

"Thanks?" Cooper tilts his head, confused. "But that isn't really your fault, is it?"

Kurt swallows and averts his eyes, unable to meet the intensity of Cooper's gaze anymore. "He was... He was trying to protect me and I'm the reason he's in New York in the first place, so it kind of..."

"Look, I was the one who came up with the idea of Blaine being a bodyguard in the first place, so I might as well blame myself," Cooper interrupts. He looks towards the closed door of Blaine's room, his eyes suddenly no longer twinkling and his face serious. He hesitates for a moment, as if he's debating whether or not he should say the words that are almost falling out of his mouth already, but then he looks back at Kurt and smiles sadly. "I... I used to blame myself for a lot of things about Blaine, but I know it's useless. It's always going to be useless. You see, Blaine... He doesn't blame people. God knows he blames himself for things he could have never prevented and that are in no way his fault, but he doesn't... He doesn't blame other people, especially people who are close to him."

Kurt stares at Cooper, his heart beating violently in his chest, so loud that even Cooper must hear it. "I don’t –"

"So the best you can do for him," Cooper continues, "is to stop blaming yourself and remind him that he shouldn't blame himself either. It's easier to take care of other people when you're not busy blaming yourself for things that have already come and gone. And it hurts Blaine when people blame themselves for something that happened to him. I should know. This probably sounds complicated and hard to understand, but –"

"No, I..." Kurt interrupts. "I think I understand what you mean."

Cooper blinks and then looks at Kurt, searching his face for a long time until he suddenly huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "I should’ve known it. I should have known. He always tries to downplay these things for me. Squirt, you sneaky idiot..."

Kurt frowns, unsure of what Cooper is talking about. "Um..."

Cooper startles. "Oh, right! You're probably here to see him, aren't you?" He grabs Kurt's shoulders and pushes him towards the door. "In you go then! I'm going to hang out with the oldies while you two catch up, so take your time! It was nice to meet you!"

Kurt barely manages to open his mouth when Cooper is already gone, disappeared the same way as his parents. Kurt stares after him, not quite sure what he should make of Blaine's famous but surprisingly whirlwind-like brother. He shakes his head. Focus, Kurt, focus. He's finally here, he can finally see Blaine, and he stands in front of the closed door, suddenly feeling like wringing his hands again for no apparent reason.

But then he reminds himself that it's Blaine, the man who has always made him feel calmer and more comfortable, and knocks softly on the door.

"Come in," comes the muffled answer, and Kurt presses the door handle, peering into the dimly lit room.

Blaine is the only patient in the room, lying on his bed with the head of it elevated so that he's almost in a sitting position. He still looks smaller than usual, paler and more tired, with his hands in his lap and the unflattering hospital gown wrapped around his body. Kurt is hit with the sudden urge to hold Blaine tightly against his chest, breathe him in just to make sure that he's still here, that his heart is still beating and he's no longer bleeding, and the thought makes all of Kurt's feelings rush back, like an onslaught of emotions slamming into him the moment he sees the dark circles under Blaine's eyes and just wants to make him feel better as soon as possible.

He's in love with Blaine. He's in love with this beautiful man who has the kindest eyes Kurt has ever seen and who fights his own demons, perhaps not always in the best possible way, but who still keeps going, still tries to search for the right answers. He's in love with Blaine, brave and gorgeous and sweet Blaine who has made Kurt feel less alone ever since he stepped into his life, and Kurt can't fight it, not anymore.

Kurt is not just falling; he has already fallen.

"K-Kurt?" Blaine startles when he sees Kurt, his voice surprised, and then he's struggling to sit up, a wince immediately flashing across his face.

"No, Blaine, don't move!" Kurt calls out and rushes to his side. His hands flutter uselessly above Blaine's body, unsure whether or not to touch him, not wanting to cause him anymore pain.

Blaine gasps and lowers himself slowly back on the bed, his breathing loud in the quiet room. There are a few droplets of sweat on his forehead, and he winces again before he seems to find a comfortable position, closing his eyes and giving Kurt a weak smile. "Sorry," he breathes out. "I keep forgetting that I'm not supposed to make any sudden movements."

"Just don't... Don't hurt yourself, okay?" Kurt touches Blaine's arm carefully, and Blaine opens his eyes at the touch. "Are you... Are you hurting? Do I need to call the nurse?"

"I'm alright." Blaine exhales slowly. "I just need to take things slow if I want to get up or something. The, um." He looks down on his lap. "The wound still hurts a little, as does my head, but it's this... sort of dull ache now. I can ignore it." He laughs softly, careful not to move his body. "Painkillers are my best friend right now."

Kurt notices the chair next to the bed and sinks down on it, keeping his fingers on Blaine's arm. "But you're okay, right? I saw Wes before I came in and he said that you should..."

"I'm fine, Kurt." Blaine glances at him, putting emphasis on the adjective. "Just a little dizzy because of the concussion and the blood loss, and I should really avoid sudden movements. Don't worry, I know these things. I can take care of them."

Kurt feels sudden tears prickling his eyes. No matter how bad his bullying was, he never ended up in a hospital. He had bruises from locker slams and dumpster dives, he had his privacy violated with an unwanted kiss and the slushies made his skin itch and look horrible, but he never had to go to a hospital. Thank goodness for that. He's not saying his sufferings were somehow less or easier than Blaine's because they can't be compared, something like that can never be measured, but it breaks his heart to think that Blaine has been here before, has looked this small or even smaller on a hospital bed with his head dizzy and his body aching.

"You shouldn't have to take care of them," Kurt whispers.

Blaine smiles softly. "No one should. But it's alright. The doctors said I'm going to heal completely if I just take it easy and if there's no infection. The chances are better than good." He stops for a moment, licking his lips. "Did they... Did they catch him?"

"They did." Kurt lets his hand stroke Blaine's arm slowly, just to remind himself that he's still here. "Wes said that he confessed right away. Not that he even had to. Levinson said they have more than enough evidence now that he..." He stops, swallows roughly and lowers his voice. "Now that the stalker tried to..."

"Yeah," Blaine murmurs. "But at least he's going to go away now, right? You can... You can finally move on."

He lifts his right hand slowly, shaking off Kurt's hand and scratching his chest awkwardly. Kurt looks at him, properly looks at him for the first time, searching Blaine's face. Something feels off. Blaine's smile is a little forced, his eyes sad in a quiet way Kurt hasn't seen before, and he won't meet Kurt's eyes for longer than a second or two, staring at his lap or at his own restlessly moving hands instead. It's scary how well Kurt knows Blaine, knows his gestures and expressions, and something is definitely off.

Then again, Blaine is in a hospital after Kurt's stalker stabbed him, so no wonder if something's off.

"I met your brother," Kurt mentions, ignoring for now the words he really wants to say.

Blaine groans and lets his head sink against the pillow. "Oh god, don't tell me he told you what my first word was when I woke up," he mutters.

Kurt tilts his head. "He didn't, but now you got me curious."

"Oh." Blaine blinks and blushes, a light shade of red spreading across his cheeks, giving his face some color. "I... Well, apparently the first thing I said was your name."

Kurt can feel himself blushing as well, a glowing hope making his cheeks flush. "Really?" he says, trying to make his voice sound sly even though on the inside he's practically squealing like a teenager.

"Yeah." Blaine still refuses to meet his eyes. "I was pretty out of it, and I was worried that you had... That the stalker had hurt you as well." His head snaps up. "He didn't, though? Right? You're alright and safe and he didn't –" He stops, swaying a little and then lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Stupid sudden movements..."

"Calm down, you're going to hurt yourself," Kurt laughs. "And yes, I'm alright. He didn't even touch me. I barely even noticed him after you..." He pauses. They have to talk about it if they want to move on. They can't just avoid it like a monster, like it's something that didn't happen. So he takes a deep breath and says, "After you were stabbed."

Blaine lowers his hand and glances at him, still looking like something's off, and Kurt is starting to wonder if it's something else instead, something not related to the stalker at all.

"I'm glad you're okay. I just... I kept thinking that I didn't want to fail anymore, so if you're not hurt I guess I didn't." Blaine shrugs, the movement barely noticeable. "At least I did something right then, as your bodyguard."

"Blaine?" Kurt asks. He doesn't understand where the tone of Blaine's voice is suddenly coming from.

"I feel like I've made your life worse," Blaine says with a bitter laugh, looking away. "Like I was the one that made the stalker act up and like..."

"No, Blaine – no." Kurt leans over and rests his hand on Blaine's arm, desperate to touch, to feel the warmth of Blaine's skin under his fingers again. "You didn't. Trust me. That stupid stalker made my life worse, in more ways than I could even imagine when this whole thing started. But you... You're the best bodyguard I could have ever asked for. You made my life safer again."

Blaine avoids Kurt's eyes, looking into his own lap instead. "Thanks." His voice is quiet, almost disbelieving, and Kurt is about to reassure him more, find the right words, bend his head until he can meet Blaine's eyes.

But Blaine continues before Kurt can get his mouth open, his voice trying to sound resolute. "I... I'm still sorry. And I think it would be best for us both to, you know, move on. Now that the stalker is behind bars and you don't need a bodyguard anymore we can both... move forward."

"Move forward?" Kurt repeats. Of course he's been thinking about it, has imagined telling Blaine about his feelings and perhaps moving on with him, but something in Blaine's voice sounds strange.

Blaine nods, fiddling with the fabric of his hospital gown. "I talked about it with my parents and with Cooper, and they want to help me, so I'm... I'm going back to college. After I've healed completely. I'm going to finish my degree."

"Blaine! That's great!" Kurt exclaims with a wide smile, squeezing Blaine's arm. "That's... That's wonderful, really. You're going to be an amazing teacher, I know it. Those kids are going to be so lucky to have you."

"Thanks." Blaine gives a small smile. "I'm going to stay at my parents' for a while when I get out of here, and then I'm... going to go back to my old college."

Kurt frowns. "Your old college? As in... in Ohio?"

"In Columbus." Blaine takes a deep breath. "So I'll probably have to ask Cooper to come pick up my stuff from your apartment..."

Kurt leans back like he's been stung, letting go of Blaine's arm. "You're... You're leaving?"

Blaine lifts his head and looks at Kurt, his eyes confused. "Well, yes? I mean I have to find a dorm room and contact my old advisor to find out what I have to do to enroll again, but I don't think they're going to stop me. I was pretty close to getting my degree already and I've been keeping up, so..."

"But we're going to keep in touch?" Kurt asks, trying to keep the sudden desperation out of his voice.

"Kurt..." Blaine looks away, his hands starting to move restlessly again. "You said you wanted to move on. I'm just giving you a better chance to do that. You're going to be really busy with that new play, and I'm going to have to work extra hard to make up for all that time I spent away from college, so I don't think it's..."

Blaine's voice trails off, and with those words Kurt can feel the hope that had made a home in his heart vanishing. Yes, of course he wants to move on, but he always meant it as moving on _with Blaine_ , confessing his feelings and hoping that Blaine feels the same way, leaving all those stupid professional obstacles behind and allowing himself to feel this way. He didn't even imagine that Blaine would leave, he didn't realize that Blaine going back to college would mean this, didn't understand that they wouldn't stay in touch after all they've been through together. His eyes are starting to itch, tears threatening to form, and it _hurts_ , hurts like his heart has never been hurt before, like something is being ripped out of him and tossed into the bottom of the ocean.

It's like there's a curtain over Blaine's face again, hiding him from Kurt, and Kurt thinks about all those nights they slept on the same bed, all those times they held each other and told each other everything, things Kurt himself has never told anyone else – and didn't it mean anything to Blaine? Was it all meaningless, was Kurt reading too much into it all along?

"Blaine," he whispers. He has to try one last time, he has to make sure. "You can't be serious, Blaine. You're... You're one of my best friends, and I..."

Blaine shrugs, the curtain thickening, and Kurt can't stop it anymore, can't make his Blaine come back. "I'm your bodyguard. I _was_ your bodyguard, but now I have to... I want to go back to college. And you deserve the chance to move on, Kurt, after all that's happened. So I'm giving you an opportunity to do it without any remin–"

Anger flashes through Kurt, and he stands up so fast the chair he was sitting on nearly topples over. "So you're, what, trying to be noble? Blaine, look at me! You're being ridiculous, and I don't mean that in a good way this time!" he shouts, not caring that he's in a hospital or that Blaine's actually still recovering.

Blaine shakes his head, still not meeting Kurt's eyes. "No, I'm being reasonable. I'm doing what's best. I'm moving on, Kurt, and you should..." He takes a deep breath and gingerly crosses his arms over his chest. "You should do the same thing. Without me."

Kurt has broken up with people before, has lost important people before, but as he stares at Blaine, the first tears pooling in his eyes and blurring his vision, the only thing he can think about is that this must be what it feels like to get his heart broken. This is not Blaine, this is not the man who told him how afraid he was of failing, the man who clung to Kurt every night and whose eyes darted to Kurt's lips last night. But the words Blaine is saying hurt, the way he won't look at Kurt hurts, it all hurts too much, and Kurt can't take it anymore.

"Fine then," he spits out, his words laced with anger and hurt and bitterness, and maybe he should try again, try to make the curtain disappear one more time, but Kurt is tired. He's tired of always forcing Blaine to come out. He needs Blaine, needs him more than anyone else, but here Blaine is, practically shoving Kurt out of his life.

And if he doesn't want Kurt, Kurt isn't going to stay.

"I guess this is goodbye," he snaps.

"I guess it is," Blaine says, his voice void of any emotion.

Kurt swallows back the tears and lifts his chin. He's not going to show how much it hurts, not when Blaine is acting like he doesn't care at all. Kurt takes one last look of Blaine, of his face and hair and his eyes that seem so dull, not a glimpse of kindness left in them, and says, keeping his voice as even and detached as he can, "Thank you for saving me, Mr. Anderson."

The words have more meaning behind them than he can even admit to himself, but Kurt only turns his back on Blaine and walks out of the room. He walks through the hospital, walks out of it, walks until he finds his dad's car in the parking lot, and that's when he breaks. A strangled sob escapes from his throat, and he buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking violently, and he can't breathe, it's like all the air has been sucked out from the world because Blaine doesn't want him, Blaine wants to leave him behind and move on without him, and Kurt's heart is lying somewhere underneath Blaine's hospital bed, shattered and trampled over, and he has no idea how he's ever going to find it and fix it again.

That's where Burt finds him half an hour later, sitting on the ground with his back against the car and his cheeks stained from tears. Burt panics, runs his hands over Kurt looking for injuries and asks him what's wrong, why is he crying, what happened, did something go wrong.

Kurt takes a shuddering breath. "I made it all up in my head," he manages to gasp out and then lets his dad pull him into a hug.

 

\---

 

Inside his hospital room Blaine stares at the white ceiling, tears streaming down his face and sticking into his eyelashes. His whole body hurts so much that even painkillers aren't going to work this time, not unless someone has managed to come up with pills meant for emotional pain. Blaine clenches his fists and desperately tells himself that his feelings are unrequited, that Kurt deserves and wants to move on, that he would only remind Kurt of the awful letters and terrified days, that everything's going to be alright, that he's doing the right thing.

He must be. It wouldn't hurt this much otherwise.


	19. Chapter 19

His parents leave a little earlier, his dad making them promise to drive carefully and his mom giving him a kiss on the cheek and saying that it will all be okay – but how can it be, how can Blaine ever be completely okay again after everything that has happened? His head isn't dizzy anymore, the wound on his stomach is healing along nicely, and his parents don't seem to quite understand why he's so subdued, so quiet and lost in his thoughts. They are excited that he's going back to college but they keep walking on eggshells around him, probably having all sorts of flashbacks to the months after Sadie Hawkins, to a Blaine who was jumpy and sullen and so, so broken.

Cooper calls him an idiot, holds him that one time he breaks down because of everything, and then tries to make him change his mind. Blaine can hear him talking to Wes outside his hospital room once or twice, but Wes only shakes his head and comes back to the room, giving Blaine a gentle smile and patting his shoulder. In the end Cooper still gives in and goes to pick up Blaine's things from Kurt's apartment. Blaine doesn't think he can set foot in that apartment anymore. If he does, he'll never want to leave again.

When Blaine finally gets out of the hospital on a windy day and slides into Cooper's rental car after saying goodbye to Wes and Sarah, careful with the stitches still piercing his skin, he sees two neatly packed suitcases on the backseat, as well as his punching bag and guitar case with bubble wrap around them.

"You didn't have to pack them so carefully," he says as Cooper sits down on the driver's seat and closes the door.

Cooper looks at him. "I didn't. They were waiting for me like that at Kurt's apartment."

Blaine swallows roughly. "Oh."

He spends the rest of the drive staring out of the window, blinking his eyes and repeating to himself that he can move on, that Kurt has already done the same, that things are as they should be. Cooper keeps glancing at him, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and his eyes worried, but this time he doesn't say anything.

 

\---

 

Carole and Finn go back to Ohio after a few days because they both have work, but Burt leaves the tire shop in Finn's hands, opting to stay in New York for a while instead. Kurt has a feeling his dad is staying because he wants to make sure he's alright, that he'll be safe and happy, and Kurt appreciates it, he really does.

He just isn't sure he knows how happiness works anymore.

Together they pack up Blaine's things before Cooper comes to pick them up, hide all the traces of Blaine ever being in the apartment. Kurt shoves the light brown beddings from the guest room bed in his closet under a pair of jeans he hasn't worn in years. He should probably throw them out – isn't that what people do when the person they're in love with has left them, get rid of all the things that remind them of that person? But he doesn't want to do that. The sheets still smell of Blaine. It's faint but it's there, and a small part of Kurt wants to hold on to that reminder.

He tells his dad that he's not just going to throw away perfectly good sheets, but he never gets around to throwing them into the laundry either. Burt pats his shoulder and looks at him sadly.

"Sure thing, Kurt," he says and doesn't ask more questions.

Andrea calls him some days later when things have settled down, asking him how the costumes are going, and as Kurt flips through his sketchbook with the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, he comes across the preliminary design he did for the main character. Cardigans, striped shirts and boat shoes are drawn all over the page, the bright colors and tender lines almost taunting him.

Kurt has to look away for a moment and take a few deep breaths. It still hurts like a punch to his already broken heart. Like Blaine punched him in the heart.

"Kurt? Are you there?" Andrea is saying over the phone. "I was thinking we could meet up and discuss the costumes some time this week, if that's alright? You could also come watch our first read-through if you want to."

When Kurt lifts his head Burt is looking at him over his newspaper, eyebrows raised in question. Kurt knows his dad should go back to Lima already. As good as Finn is, the shop is still Burt's and some of the regular customers only want Burt working on their cars. Kurt isn't feeling much better, not yet, but he is Kurt Hummel, he keeps going, he never gives up, and today he checked his mail all by himself and didn't even flinch.

Kurt flips the sketchbook closed and smiles. It's fraying around the edges, but he forces it to stay on his face, forces himself to move on. If that's what Blaine wants him to do, he'll do it.

"Sure," he says into the phone. "Does Thursday sound good?"

 

\---

 

Blaine's new dorm room is small and cramped. He tries not to compare it to Kurt's apartment, but the blank walls and the cracked ceiling are taunting him every minute of every day and night. He sleeps fitfully, startling awake several times and expecting to see a tall and lean body sleeping next to him, almost feeling long fingers running down his arm in strange patterns. He never told it to Kurt, but he was half-awake every morning; he could feel Kurt's fingers on his skin, could feel his breath tickling his curls, and he misses it.

Blaine attends his final seminars, finishes his essays and sees his professors who keep congratulating him on coming back and saying that he did the right thing. When he gets back to his room in the evenings – it's not a home, it's just a room – he concentrates on his homework, he gets by and works hard. He thinks he's actually succeeding, but for some reason he still expects another voice to join him every time he plays his guitar, expects someone to laugh and say, "really Blaine?" The music he plays sounds incomplete, something that has never happened before, and the worst part is that Blaine knows exactly what it's missing.

The first time he steps in front of a classroom is difficult, incredibly difficult, his hands shaking and his voice almost betraying him – but he pushes on, and by the end of the lesson he has the kids smiling and laughing at his stupid jokes. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he just needed to succeed, to protect someone for once, needed to see the scared looks on his parents' faces and in Cooper's eyes, and maybe all those things made coming back to college possible. This is what he wants to do with his life, after all. His dreams haven't changed.

Except they have, haven't they, in one aspect, but Blaine resolutely does not think about that.

Cooper and Wes keep calling him, his parents send him e-mails full of worried questions. The scar on his stomach fades every day, and after he's been back in college for a month he goes boxing for the first time in a long while. His movements are a bit rusty and weak, but he hits the bag until his knuckles hurt, until sweat is trickling down his back and until the only thing he can hear is his own heavy breathing. His body hurts like hell the next day, but it helps, a little.

The aching scar on his heart doesn't go away.

 

\---

 

It's quiet in the apartment without Blaine. Kurt can't believe he didn't realize it before – the way silence seems to linger in the corners of each room, the way his own steps echo through the empty hallway. Logically he knows that he's just imagining everything, that one person can't possibly fill up a whole apartment with noise or life. Blaine had a soft voice; Kurt never heard him yell (except that one time when he was lying on the floor, bleeding), and the sound of his guitar was always gentle, even when he was playing old disco classics. There's no way that Blaine could have made the apartment feel more alive. It's an apartment, for god's sake. It can't feel, it doesn't have a life.

Kurt isn't afraid to go out on his own, isn't afraid to open his mail, not anymore. Even the nightmares have stopped, although he still has trouble falling asleep. His dad seems to think that he isn't dealing with things, that he's just pushing them away – but he isn't. Kurt deals with things by going on, and it's easy to do that when he has Andrea's play to work on, when another director calls him up and asks him to design costumes for another play and when his calendar is full of lunch dates and deadlines and fittings.

Sometimes Kurt is walking the streets of New York and he turns around, opening his mouth to say something – and a second too late he remembers that there's no one there, no one following him, no one walking next to him and resting their hand on the small of his back. He stops for a moment, a sad smile forming on his lips, and then keeps walking.

When Kurt is at home he turns his music up, walks a bit louder through the rooms and rattles the dishes whenever he makes dinner. He invites Rachel over as often as possible and doesn't allow her to look at him with worried eyes, distracts her by talking about her new roles or auditions. He does his best to move on, to keep going, and he thinks he's even succeeding – but somehow the silence still stays. Somehow it feels even more oppressive.

 

\---

 

It gets somewhat easier, day by day, week by week, month by month, until over three monotonous and grey months have passed since Blaine left New York and went back to college. He wakes up one morning from disorientated sleep to the sound of his mail slot opening and slamming shut, to the hurried footsteps of the mailman echoing in the dormitory's hallway.

Blaine rubs his eyes and gets up with a sigh. He's done with his final classes and his training, but he hasn't moved out yet, stuck between not quite a student anymore and not yet a legitimate teacher. He has absolutely nowhere to be today. Days like this are the hardest, with too much silence and too much free time, too many opportunities to second-guess and reconsider everything.

He pads to the door and bends down to pick up the mail. On days like this even the simplest movements remind him of New York, of how he used to pick up Kurt's mail every morning while Kurt made coffee, how he used to sigh in relief when there wasn't a new letter and how blinding Kurt's smile always was when he walked back into the kitchen.

Blaine frowns at the memory and thumbs through the few items in his own mail. There's the newspaper, one or two bills, and a thick letter with the Ohio State University labeled as the sender. Blaine drops the newspaper and the bills on his table and slits the large envelope open, pulling out a small stack of papers. His full name is written on the topmost paper with clear typed letters, followed by his birth date and a list of all the courses he has completed, and it takes a few moments for Blaine's sleep-muddled mind to realize what he's holding in his hands.

He's done.

He rushes to his phone, pressing the first number on speed dial without even stopping to think about it, and then waits anxiously for the other person to pick up. Not for the first time Blaine wishes phones had songs or music instead of the tantalizing dial tone that seems to just mock everyone listening to it.

Eventually there's a click on the other end of the line, and then Cooper's sleepy voice answers. "B?"

"Oh, right, the time difference, sorry." Blaine shakes his head, putting the papers down on his bedside table. "Never mind, it's nothing. Go back to sleep, Coop."

"No, no – I'm awake, just..." There's some rustling and muffled voices – and oh god, Cooper obviously has an overnight guest. A _lady_ guest, judging from the faint words Blaine can make out through the phone, and suddenly he feels mortified. Yes, Cooper is definitely an adult, but Blaine really doesn't want to know about certain aspects of his brother's life.

The sounds disappear, and then Cooper's voice is back, clearer and more awake and sounding concerned. "Blaine? Is something wrong?"

Blaine sits down on his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, I'm... Sorry. Is Nina there?"

"She is, but don't worry about her." Cooper yawns softly. "Why are you calling this early? Did something happen?"

Blaine takes the papers in his hand again, suddenly wanting to feel the concrete proof against his palm. He gives a laugh. "Yeah, you could say that. My... I got my diploma today."

"What does that even mean? I'm no good at this college stuff, you know that."

"It means that I'm done. I'm officially a teacher."

There's silence on the other end for a moment, and then Cooper is literally screaming in Blaine's ear, enthusiastic words and sounds that make no sense, and Blaine has to pull the phone away from his ear with a wince. He feels kind of sorry for Nina right now.

"Blainey! That's – that's amazing!" Cooper whoops. "So you graduated then? You're finished and done and all over it and now you can go teach those little vermin everything about music and scales and whatever, and oh my god, Blaine! Blaineeeey!"

Blaine laughs. "Quiet, you idiot. You're going to wake Nina."

"Oh, she's already awake." There's a pause. "And she says congratulations, by the way. Which is just a less eloquent and much simpler way to say the same things I just told you."

"Thanks." Blaine flips through the papers on his lap with a smile, looking at his grades and recognizing courses he took years ago. It's almost surreal that he's here now, that he has a degree and a diploma after everything that has happened. There are actually people who would trust him to handle a classroom full of kids, who have read through his essays and diploma work and seen something there, something to give him pretty good grades. This is all he's ever wanted, to be a teacher, and now he actually is. Blaine doesn't know if he should laugh or cry, if he should get up and dance or just sleep for a month.

"Hey, little brother," Cooper says, his voice gentle and caring. "I'm so proud of you, you know that?"

They have worked through their issues years ago, but there will probably always be a small part of Blaine that is still looking for his brother's approval. The words make something warm spread through him, something kind and light that feels a lot like pure happiness. He hasn't felt that in a while, not like this.

"I know, Coop," he answers with a soft smile and leans back until his back hits the bed and he's lying on top of the covers.

"Did you call mom and dad yet?" Cooper asks. Blaine can practically hear his excited smile, and it makes the warm feeling spread even wider.

"Not yet. I just opened the letter. I'll call them after I've had breakfast."

"Well, what now then, Mr. Teacher? Are you going to get a job in Columbus or what?"

"I don't..." Blaine stops, and just like that the warmth is gone.

Columbus isn't really his home. It has always felt like a pit stop, a place to get his degree and nothing more, and he has never really made any roots in the city. Westerville isn't his home either, hasn't been for years, even though his parents live there, even though that's where Dalton is and where he grew up; it's his childhood home, the place he can go back to but still the place he has left behind. Even Los Angeles isn't his home – Cooper's apartment is a safe haven and always open for him, Blaine knows it, but it's still Cooper's, full of things from his own life.

Blaine thinks about the dreams he had in high school, beautiful images about seeing the view from the top of the Empire State Building, about standing in the middle of the Times Square, about Broadway and Upper East Side and Manhattan and dozens of other places he can only recognize by their name. He thinks about an apartment on the ninth floor, about a restaurant with the best chicken salad he has ever eaten, thinks about the hum of the city at night, thinks about long arms and smiling eyes. That's where he wants to go, that's where he felt like home. But he doesn't know if it's possible anymore. It's a big city, but fate has always had a way of coming back to bite him, and Blaine promised himself he would move on and let Kurt do the same.

But he felt like home when he was with Kurt. It wasn't just his teenage dream of New York, it was Kurt; it has always been Kurt with his sarcasm and wit and courage, Kurt with his gorgeous body and beautiful face and eyes that make Blaine want to drown in them, as silly as that sounds. Blaine can try and fight it – that's what he has been doing for more than three months, for nearly six months now, ever since he saw Kurt for the first time – but maybe instead of fighting he should just... Stop and face it. For once be brave and not afraid.

Blaine has used up all his excuses and moved on, but it hasn't helped, not at all, and here he is, wondering if there's a school in New York City that could use a music teacher.

"Blainey? Are you still there?"

Blaine startles from his thoughts. He pushes himself off the bed and stares out of his window, into the bleak and rainy Columbus morning. He has his diploma now, has the whole world open at his feet, but there's only one place in that world he really wants to go to. Maybe it's time he admitted it to himself.

"Cooper?"

"Yeah?" Cooper's voice is careful, like he doesn't quite know what Blaine's going to say, and that's alright. Blaine doesn't really know either.

"I think... I don't know what I should do, Coop," he admits.

"Blaine. You always say that but then things still work out just fine. Trust me, you do –"

"No, Coop, I..." Blaine shakes his head, frustrated. Words have always been difficult. He can sing, he can play music and dance and get his feelings out in that way, but putting them in words without any melody to back them up? That has always been his weakness. "I mean I know what I really, _really_ want to do and where I really, really want to go, but I don't... I don't know if I can anymore. If I should."

"Oh." Cooper is silent for a few seconds and then he breathes in and out, the sound loud enough to make Blaine exhale as well. "Look, Blaine, remember all those years ago when I gave that acting master class at Dalton?"

Blaine frowns. "I could never forget it. But what does that have to do with..."

"A lot, actually." Cooper sounds serious, more serious than he has ever sounded before, not at all like the goofy big brother that always came up with the most ridiculous ideas when they were younger. "See, that master class... That was my second chance. With you, I mean. I messed up a lot of things when we were young and I probably still do, and my apology at Dalton didn't exactly go how I'd planned it. But I knew I had to do it, that I had to reach out for you and try to repair the damage. You could have shut me out and never spoken to me again, and I would have had to suck it up and accept it. But you didn't."

"You're my brother. Of course I didn't." Blaine rolls his eyes.

"And I'm forever grateful for that," Cooper says with emphasis. "But the point is that I know how terrifying second chances can be. I know it could be easier to just pretend and hide and ignore everything, but that's not a very ideal way to live, is it? The risks will always be huge – I mean, for fuck's sake, Blaine, you took another boy to a school dance in the middle of Ohio. You serenaded a guy at the Gap. You became a bodyguard because your idiot brother suggested it. You just graduated from _college_. Sure, you might have failed a few times, but you wouldn't be where you are now if you hadn't tried. What do you have to lose anyway?"

Blaine closes his eyes, his heart beating violently inside his chest, like the sound of his fists against a punching bag, like the beat of an old disco song. Like the way Kurt's shoes would clack against the pavement. "My... My hopes and fears, I guess."

"You can't build your life on hopes and fears alone, B." Cooper sighs softly. "Okay, you clueless idiot, I'll make it simple – what are your feelings towards Kurt?"

Blaine splutters, dropping his diploma on the floor, the papers scattering everywhere. Of course he has known from the start that this conversation isn't just about New York, but hearing Kurt's name after such a long time is still a shock. "W-what?"

"You like him, don't you? And not just as friends or as some weird client-bodyguard-thingy?"

"I..." Blaine swallows and looks around his dorm room. It shouldn't hold the answers; it's just a room, but somehow the answers are still there. The empty walls, the deafening silence, the city outside his window that just doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right because Kurt isn't here. Blaine hasn't heard his voice in months, hasn't made him laugh in months, hasn't held him in his arms in the middle of the night, and he misses it. He misses Kurt, more than he has ever missed another person in his life. Kurt moves him and takes his breath away, makes him want to be braver than he ever has been, trusts him and accepts him, and without Kurt Blaine's life feel definitely duller, like he's playing a role that doesn't quite fit him. Like he can't be just Blaine.

Kurt makes him feel whole. Kurt – courageous and beautiful and brilliant and talented Kurt – makes him feel like he can't fail anymore.

"I think I'm..." Blaine takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, blocks the tears and imagines Kurt in front of him. "I think I'm in love with him."

"There you go! Was that so hard?" Cooper comments. "Now what on earth are you waiting for?"

Blaine blinks his eyes open. "I... Oh god," he groans, burying his face in his hand. "At the hospital, I said... Coop, I said so many awful things because I thought that was what he needed to hear to move on and I always acted so weird around him and pushed him away, and... I don't think he'll ever want to see me again because of those things. Oh god. I'm a complete idiot."

"Well, duh."

"Not helping," Blaine mutters, dragging his hand down his face.

"Blaine, you're an Anderson. We are doomed to be idiots every once in a while." Cooper clicks his tongue. "But lucky for you, we're idiots with a good heart and we tend to realize when we've been idiotic."

"But what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he never even had any feelings for me in the first place?" Blaine asks, his voice small.

" _Then_ you move on," Cooper answers. "You know that. But first you try to find out if he would be willing to give you a chance. And if he does, you better not screw it up and break our tradition of successful second chances."

Blaine chuckles, wiping his eyes, not even remembering when his eyes started to water. "So that's it? That's your big brotherly advice?" he teases.

"Hey, that advice deserves a standing ovation. That advice deserves an Oscar. Or at least an Advertisers' Award," Cooper says, and Blaine can almost imagine him, sitting in his kitchen in his pajama pants, with his arm slung over the backrest of a chair and Nina shaking her head at him.

Cooper is not the only one who's glad that Blaine gave him that second chance all those years ago.

"Besides," Cooper continues, "I don't think you were _that_ idiotic. I have a feeling Kurt feels the same way you do."

Blaine is pretty sure his heart just jumped out of his chest and started running in circles around him. "He what?" he manages to choke out. "How do you... Cooper?"

"I'm not going to lie, Blaine," Cooper explains. "You probably did hurt him when you were trying to be all noble and protective and giving him the chance to move on – but I met him at the hospital and he..." Cooper huffs out a laugh. "You should've seen the way he acted. He was so worried, more worried than a client would be about his bodyguard, and then he... I just think he'll understand why you did what you did. Trust me on this one, okay? And who knows, Blainey might get himself a boyfriend!" he finishes in sing-song.

Blaine shakes his head. "You are ridiculous."

"I'm awesome," Cooper quips. "You just better make that one hell of an apology. Maybe with a master class and all."

 

\---

 

It's a sunny day in New York City, and Kurt is on a lunch date with Rachel and Wes to discuss any upcoming events and possible job offers. They're sitting in a café near Wes' office, and Kurt tries to ignore the questions that start bubbling inside of him every time he sees Wes these days – the questions about Blaine, about how he's doing, if he's already finished with his studies, if he's happy, if he has moved on and forgotten about Kurt. It's been over three months, and Kurt knows he should be over it by now – they never even kissed, they never even had sex for crying out loud, Blaine was never his boyfriend – but Blaine was the first person that made Kurt feel so complete, so not alone, so trusted and safe, and of course he misses that. It's only natural.

But he's not going to ask Wes about Blaine. He doesn't want to hear the answers he fears the most.

"So can you be my plus-one for that premiere, Kurt?"

Kurt lifts his gaze from his coffee, blinking his eyes back into focus and letting thoughts of Blaine float to the back of his head. That's where they always are, waiting for a moment to break out and taunt him again. "I'm sorry?"

Rachel looks at him, her eyes not annoyed like they usually would be when someone doesn't listen to her, but full of worry instead. Kurt is getting sick of worried stares.

"That premiere next week? Can you be my plus-one?" Rachel repeats.

"Oh." Kurt scratches his forehead. "It's on Friday, right? Sure, I don't have any other appointments that night."

Rachel purses her lips and reaches out to squeeze Kurt's shoulder with her small hand, rubbing her thumb soothingly over the stiff muscles. "You're really tense, Kurt."

"Too many nights spent hunched over my desk, that's all," Kurt explains with a smile and then turns to look at Wes. "Which reminds me – that play Charles is doing? I can't do the costumes for it. I already have too much on my plate as it is, and I don't really..." He wrinkles up his nose. "I don't really understand his vision."

Wes laughs. "Yeah, no wonder. I did see his plan, Kurt. I'm not sure Charles even has a vision."

Kurt shrugs. "Well, I still didn't want to offend him by immediately saying no with a horrified look on my face."

"Oh, good call, Kurt!" Rachel perks up, clapping her hands together. "I remember hearing that Charles is friends with a few very important people, so getting on his bad side could be a stupid idea. Of course they're just rumors and Charles is rather eccentric, but I still wouldn't want to ruin my career by being rude to him..."

Wes' phone starts ringing at that moment, and he gives Rachel and Kurt an apologetic look before answering it. "Hi honey."

"Hi Sarah!" Rachel exclaims and Kurt very discreetly covers his ears. Rachel has probably never heard of an inside voice, and Kurt really should be used to it by now.

Wes rolls his eyes. "Rachel says hi, in case you didn't hear it." He looks at his watch. "No, I'm out having lunch with Kurt and Rachel... Oh, right, yes, the dry cleaning. I can go pick it up?"

Kurt takes a sip of his coffee and smiles at the way Wes' face instantly softens when he starts talking to Sarah. It reminds him of how Blaine's eyes would look like late at night when they were lying on a bed and talking about nothing in particular – and there are those thoughts again, ruining his good effort at moving on. It's hopeless, he knows it is. Blaine was the one who told him to move on, the one who wanted to leave and never be in touch again, the one who probably doesn't even miss him it all.

Those thoughts hurt even more than the distant memories.

"Well could you bring the receipt to me? ... Okay, I'll see you soon. Love you." Wes hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket. "She's doing deliveries today, so I need to pick up the dry cleaning," he explains.

"Can I just say that I find it very admirable that you and Sarah manage to make your marriage work even though you both have very demanding jobs?" Rachel comments.

Wes lifts his eyebrows. "Thank... you?"

Kurt laughs. They spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the upcoming opening night of Andrea's play. Kurt is all done with the costumes, there are only a few small details left, and he must say that even if he was a tiny bit apprehensive about doing a contemporary play in the first place, the costumes are brilliant. They manage to reflect the characters’ personalities without being too obvious, and he is definitely proud of them.

The café door opens near the end of their conversation, and Sarah walks in, instantly spotting their table and weaving through the busy lunch crowd until she reaches them. She smiles and bends down to give Wes a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey you all," she says as she hands over a small piece of paper to Wes. "How are you?"

"Busy but good," Kurt answers with a shrug, and Rachel nods in agreement.

"We should have dinner again sometime soon," Rachel suggests. "It's been too long since our last time."

"It really has. I'd love to bake for more than two but less than two hundred people for a change," Sarah admits with a smile. "Look, I'm sorry for just interrupting your meeting and then leaving right away, but I have to get these darlings –" She gently shakes the small box of cookies she's holding in her hands. "– to the post office before lunch hour ends. Lots of deliveries today."

"Oh, is your bakery starting to deliver by mail as well? Because I'm pretty sure I know a few people outside New York who would love your cheesecake," Rachel says, her eyes already shining with excitement.

Sarah laughs and shakes her head. "No, sorry, that would be too much of a hassle. These are actually for..." She stops, hesitating, and then glances to Kurt. "For Blaine."

"For Blaine?" Kurt repeats.

The same old questions come back again, drowning out every other thought. Kurt can pretend that he has moved on and that Blaine only crosses his mind every now and then or when he sees Wes, but it's not true. He misses Blaine. Oh god, he misses him so much. He's not even angry at him anymore, hasn't been for months – he just misses their conversations and jokes and lunches and the quiet evenings they spent in the living room, reading or listening to music or watching whatever was on TV. Kurt misses waking up next to Blaine, misses the weight of Blaine's arm over his chest, misses everything about him.

And all it takes is one name, one silly name with one syllable and six letters – sometimes he doesn't even need a name, he only needs a certain gesture, a familiar movement or the sound of someone tuning a guitar – and he's spiraling once again, forgetting everything about trying to move on.

"Is he..." Kurt starts, feeling Rachel's eyes on him. "How is he?"

Sarah fiddles with the box and then looks down. "Honestly? I don't really know."

Wes reaches out to stroke Sarah's arm, his eyes gentle, but Kurt can see the underlying worry in them. "I talked to him a few days ago, and he sounded relatively fine."

"Relatively fine?" Rachel butts in. "That's an odd choice of words."

Sarah lifts her head and looks at Rachel. "Well, it's Blaine. I mean I don't know him as well as Wes does, but I do know that Blaine always says he's fine even when he isn't. And he sounded really tired the last time I spoke with him, so I'm going to do the one thing I can do and send him some chocolate-chip cookies with extra chips."

Kurt gives a small smile. "His favorites."

Everyone else turns to look at him. Kurt startles and ducks his head, trying to look nonchalant. "He, um. He mentioned it once when we were out having coffee."

"And you still remember it," Rachel says softly. "Oh honey."

So much for moving on.

 

\---

 

A few days later, after Blaine has called his parents, after he has finally understood that he has a diploma and a _profession_ he actually wants to do, after he has listened to _New York State of Mind_ too many times and then very discreetly checked if there are any job advertisements for a music teacher in New York – because no matter what Kurt says, no matter whether he forgives him or not, New York is still the place where Blaine wants to be, where he should have gone right after Dalton instead of being scared and staying in Ohio – after all that he sits in his dorm room and fiddles with his phone, tossing it from one hand to the other. He's trying to figure out which ones he should trust more, his hopes or his fears, but the old doubts are creeping up on him again, making the decision impossible.

"You really are an idiot," he says to himself a moment later, effectively proving his point, and then promptly dials Wes' phone number.

Wes answers after two rings, the sounds of the city echoing behind his voice. "Hi Blaine."

"Hi Wes." Blaine leans back on his bed, crossing his legs in front of him. "How are you? How's New York?"

Wes huffs. "Busy and insane, that's what they both are. I'm trying to get to a meeting with this eccentric director to tell him that my client's not going to work with him, and the traffic is awful and I can't find a taxi and –"

"I got my diploma," Blaine blurts out.

Wes stops and then laughs after a moment. "You did? Blaine, that's great! Congratulations!" There's the sound of a car blowing its horn, and Wes mutters something under his breath before he goes on. "So you're a teacher now, for real? Any job offers waiting?"

Blaine stares at the cracked ceiling. "Not really. The school where I did my final training said that they would've loved to hire me, but they already have a great music teacher, so I'm not that disappointed." He scratches the back of his head and takes a deep breath. "I'm... I'm actually thinking of trying to find a job in New York."

For a while there are only the noises of the traffic reaching Blaine's ear, the hum of the city and the cacophony of its life, familiar and making him miss the city even more, but then suddenly the noises fade out and Wes' voice is back, quieter and more concerned.

"I just stepped into a shoe store for a moment, in case you were wondering the sudden silence," Wes explains. "Look, Blaine," he sighs after a moment, "that sounds great, but are you... I mean, why New York?"

"I knew you'd ask that." Blaine leans his head against the wall and stares at the ceiling. "I just... I always thought I'd go there, you know? You can probably remember how awestruck I was that first day when you gave me a quick tour of the city, and I... I seriously considered applying for NYU or some other college during my senior year, but then I chickened out and applied here instead. But music teachers are needed everywhere, so I thought that maybe I could move there now." He closes his eyes. "So it's not... It's not about Kurt."

Wes barks out a laugh. "You're a terrible liar, Blaine."

Blaine sighs. "No, you're just good at spotting my lies."

"That I am," Wes answers, sounding smug.

"But it's really not entirely about Kurt, I promise." Blaine shifts on the bed and exhales slowly. "How... How is he?" He tries to sound nonchalant, but he still unconsciously holds the phone closer to his ear. Wes can probably hear right through his voice no matter what he does. Those are the pros and cons of having people in your life who know you too well.

"Kurt? He's good, he's fine. Busy with the new play," Wes answers quickly.

"... Oh." Blaine doesn't know what he should feel. Mostly he's relieved that Kurt is okay, all things considered. He wants Kurt to be happy. He wants him to get everything he deserves, he wants him to be smiling and taking people's breaths away with his costumes. Still there's a small, stupid and selfish part of Blaine that had been hoping that Kurt would have missed him. God knows how much Blaine has missed him, and it's definitely his own fault this time.

"That's good," he says eventually, managing to keep his voice even. What was he thinking, taking Cooper's advice seriously? Kurt is clearly doing just fine without him, and Blaine should just forget about him, no matter how impossible it is, because he screwed up, he was an idiot and he let Kurt go because of his own insecurities, and now he can spend the rest of his life regretting that and never finding out if Kurt actually even had feelings for him, and Kurt probably has someone in his life already, some brilliant man because he deserves someone brilliant and –

"But I can tell he misses you," Wes interrupts Blaine's thoughts.

Blaine blinks his eyes, both his brain and heart stuttering. "He... does?"

"Yes, Blaine, you magnificent doofus, of course he misses you!"

Blaine flinches at Wes' frustrated tone. "Excuse me?"

"Whatever you think that he feels for you – pure professionalism or just friendship or even hate because you left and never talked to him again – you're wrong, alright? And I haven't said anything earlier because I wanted you to figure it out on your own but it seems like you never will, so Blaine, here it comes." Wes takes a deep breath. "Kurt. Has. Feelings. For you. He's miserable without you, even though he tries not to let it show. So are you going to do something about those feelings or not?"

Blaine hangs his head. "I pretty much got the same lecture from Cooper a few days ago, so I guess I should," he notes, rubbing his face – but he can feel warmth spreading into his body, hopes and expectations and pure unadulterated joy. He has always trusted Wes' judgement, ever since he made the mistake of not listening to him before the Gap attack. He thinks about the words Kurt said to him, the way he looked at him, and maybe Blaine did interpret everything wrong because of his fears and insecurities. Even if he's still scared, even if he might still fail and make his fears a reality, he needs to try. For Kurt. For himself. For both of them.

Kurt deserves someone who's willing to be brave and give it a try, someone as courageous as he is himself. Someone who isn't afraid of failing anymore. If Kurt lets him, Blaine is willing to spend the rest of his life trying to prove Kurt – and himself – that he can do that. That he can be just Blaine, and maybe that'll be enough.

"Cooper's speech was a bit more eloquent though," he adds after a while, banging the back of his head against the wall. It stings a little, but that's how life goes. The sting will fade, eventually, and once it's faded enough you can move on. Perhaps move on together with someone else who has dealt with his own stings in the past.

"Well he doesn't have to deal with two love-sick idiots," Wes quips. "And if you need a job, I have a friend who works in a middle school in our district. He might be able to help you out. I mean... If you still want to come here and stop being a doofus."

Blaine laughs, really laughs for the first time in months, lets all the caged feelings inside of him spread their wings and make the bars of their prison rattle.

 

\---

 

There's a knock on the door late one evening, and Kurt leaves his coffee on the table and gets up from the sofa, phone pressed against his ear, still listening to Rachel going on and on about her wardrobe problem on the other end of the line. The person at the door is probably just the doorman dropping something off or alternatively the Chinese take-out that Kurt ordered ages ago and that has taken way too long to get here. He is so not leaving a tip this time.

"Look, Rachel, that dress is not the best choice, trust me," he continues as he walks to the door and opens the security lock first – the only thing that has changed in his apartment since the stalker. Well, not the only thing. There's always the absence of Blaine as well.

Rachel starts to defend the dress they're talking about, a horrendous blue-and-yellow atrocity, and Kurt holds the phone between his shoulder and his ear with a smile, rolling his eyes as he presses the door handle. "No, Rachel, listen to me –"

The words die on his lips when he opens the door. Blaine is standing in the hallway, smiling hesitantly and looking at Kurt like he's an oasis in the middle of a desert. Blaine's curls are a little longer and wilder, his cheeks flushed and his hands resting calmly on his sides, but other than that he looks the same as he did over three months ago. Except the last time Kurt saw him he had dark curtains covering his face and he was avoiding Kurt's eyes infuriatingly; now his face is open, completely readable and _present_ , and the desperate hope in his eyes is enough to knock Kurt off his feet. It's certainly enough to take his breath away.

Kurt stares at him, blinking his eyes a few times to make sure he isn't imagining things, and then the tinny voice coming from his phone registers in his mind, snapping him back to reality. "Rachel. I'm going to have to call you back," he says and hangs up, cutting Rachel off mid-sentence.

It's silent for a moment, both of them just standing there looking at each other, time moving on around them, Blaine's hands shifting a little until they find the pockets of his jeans and slip in, making Blaine roll nervously on the balls of his feet.

"Hi," he eventually breathes out.

That's all it takes for Kurt to fall all over again. He probably never even fell out in the first place.


	20. Chapter 20

Kurt looks gorgeous. That's the only thought that seems to rush through Blaine's mind, squashing everything else – how gorgeous Kurt looks, how beautiful with his hair a little tousled and the uppermost buttons of his shirt open, revealing a small sliver of pale skin. Blaine's body aches from longing, missing Kurt's touch even more now that he's so close to him, so close that he could just reach out and take his hand, hold him close and never let him go, and Blaine really, really wants to do that. It feels like he will break if he doesn't get to touch Kurt right now, and he has to wonder how on earth he survived all these months without Kurt when the reaction he's getting right now is so intense.

"Blaine," Kurt says under his breath, his hand still resting on the door handle and his other one still clutching his phone. "What are you... You're here? How?"

Blaine can see the way Kurt is holding back and keeping the distance between them, can see the hesitation in Kurt's eyes, and that's what stops him from reaching out, what makes him bury his hands deeper into his pockets. He can't touch Kurt. He can't, not yet. He needs to make this right first, needs to trust his words for once, and then maybe, if everything goes well, if he's very, very lucky, he can reach out and touch Kurt again. But not yet. Maybe not ever, but Blaine tries to concentrate on his hopes instead of his fears, tries to remember everything that Cooper and Wes said.

"The... The doorman remembered me," he manages to say, nodding towards the elevator. "He let me come up."

Kurt shakes his head. "No, Blaine, I mean... What are you doing _here_ , in New York? Aren't you supposed to be in college?"

"Oh." Blaine wants to scratch the back of his head, wants to cross his arms over his chest, but if he takes his hands out of his pockets he's sure that they will immediately reach out for Kurt, and that can't happen. Not before he has said everything. "I graduated. I got my diploma less than a week ago."

"So you're a teacher now?" Kurt asks, and when Blaine nods, his eyes soften. There's still some hesitation in them, but at least they do soften. "That's great, Blaine. I'm happy for you. Congratulations. But... That still doesn't explain why you're here."

Blaine smiles – he can't help it, not when Kurt is standing in front of him, when Blaine feels like he can breathe again, like the cage is crumbling down around his heart – and there's only one thing he can think of saying right now.

"Because I'm in love with you."

Kurt startles, his arms falling to his sides, his phone slipping from his hand and falling to the floor with a soft thud. He stares at Blaine with his eyes and mouth wide open, as if he can't believe the words, and Blaine realizes belatedly that his carefully practised speech just flew out of the window. His own eyes widen as well, and this time his hands do reach out.

"No, that's not – I mean..." He shakes his head, frustrated. "I wasn't going to say... to say that yet, I had all these other things I needed to say first, all these apologies and explanations and other words, but I'm – I'm not good with words, Kurt." Kurt closes his eyes for a moment when Blaine says his name, taking a shuddering breath before opening them up again, and Blaine keeps going, trying to get everything out. "I'm not, not at least when it counts, and I actually had a plan, this mental list of all the things I need to say and in what order, but I just... I _am_ in love with you, Kurt, I'm not going to take it back or anything, I would never take it back, but could I maybe, just, start again and try to get it right this time? Please?"

Kurt looks at him, his eyes still a little wary, but then he nods, a slow movement of his head that makes Blaine's heart speed up once again, even though it feels like it's been racing ever since he got off the phone with Wes.

"Can I... Can I come in?" Blaine asks carefully.

Kurt nods again after a moment and takes a few steps back, letting Blaine in. Blaine breathes in deeply and steps into Kurt's apartment, immediately overwhelmed by the familiar sense of belonging and home as he notices the same framed posters he saw the first time he was in here, the same furniture and the same scent in the air. He closes the door behind him and contemplates leaning against it, trying to get some support, but then he thinks about Dalton-Blaine, about Bodyguard-Blaine, about all the other personalities he has had during his life. He doesn't want to have any roles or additional support this time. He wants to just be himself, be all the Blaines he has ever been, all wrapped up in one. He wants to be whole in the way Kurt makes him feel like he is.

Kurt is still looking at him, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze waiting. Blaine clears his throat. He kept Kurt safe when he was his bodyguard, he went back to college even after everything that happened and got his degree. He can't be so afraid of failing, not anymore.

 _Courage_.

"I'll... I'll try to make this understandable, so let's start with the main idea." Blaine takes a breath. "I... I was an idiot. It's probably a constant state of mind for me, for all the Andersons according to Cooper, but I was even more of an idiot than I usually am in the hospital. I thought you wanted to move on, Kurt, that you wanted to keep living the life you had before the anonymous stalker and before me, and I didn't want to... hold you down, I guess. I wanted to give you a chance and to get away from you so I wouldn't constantly remind you of those awful months of your life when you had a bodyguard and got anonymous letters, but I..."

"So you _were_ trying to be noble?" Kurt interrupts him, one of his eyebrows raised.

Blaine laughs, a little overwhelmed, and runs his fingers through his hair. "No, not really. I was just getting to that, actually. I was, in all honesty... Scared. I was terrified. You... You make me feel more than I ever have before, Kurt. You move me and challenge me and make me want to be myself, and you... You make me feel like being myself is enough. And I was scared of it, I was scared that I was reading too much into it and making it all up in my head, thinking that I don't deserve you and that you don't deserve someone like me, someone who always messes things up."

Kurt's eyes soften again, his whole posture loosening. "Blaine..."

"No, let me finish, please?" Blaine pleads. "I need to get this out now, or I'll never get it all out again."

Kurt nods and gives a small smile, the first smile since he saw Blaine standing in the hallway, the first smile Blaine has seen in too many months, and it shakes something loose inside of him, something that feels a lot like his heart, like the cage around his feelings. It gives him more strength, more courage to pull through.

Blaine takes another breath. "So I... I panicked, I guess. I watched you at that concert and then you kept saying that you wanted to move on, and it just... It brought back all these fears and insecurities I have – I did mention one of my ex-boyfriends to you, didn't I? He, um, left me because I cared too much about him and then he just moved on without me. I'm over him, I've been over him for years, but I didn't want to go through the same thing all over again. I didn't want to care and then fail in something important anymore. I was... scared, like I said, and I guess I convinced myself that you wanted to be free."

He stops, shakes his head almost angrily at the words failing him again. "No, not free, that sounds stupid, you're not some caged animal, Kurt, you never could be. I thought you wanted to... To leave it all behind, anonymous letters and stalkers and visits to the police station and _me_ , so I decided to save you the trouble and be a coward and run away before I had to hear you telling me to leave. My parents were already talking about going back to college, doing something less life-threatening, so I thought that why not go now, why not go back to Ohio and be a coward and get a degree at the same time."

"But I... I was so stupid that I didn't realize that you were the reason I was able to go back to college in the first place." Blaine lifts his head and meets Kurt's eyes that are still the most beautiful pair of eyes he has ever seen, that still make him want to drown in them. "You're nothing like that ex-boyfriend of mine. You're nothing like any of the other people in my life. You trusted me and made me trust you and made me feel like I could do anything, and I would probably still be slacking off in LA if I hadn't met you. And then I got my diploma a week ago and understood that the only place I wanted to be in was here, in New York, hopefully with you, and then both Cooper and Wes helped me make sense of everything, and I... I was an idiot, Kurt." He gestures with his hands again, the nervous energy thrumming through his muscles. "I was an idiot because ever since I met you all I really wanted to do was to tell you how I feel about you and how amazing I think you are and how terrified I was to feel this way, but I couldn't, not with being your bodyguard and all that, and then when I finally had the chance to get it right, I – I blew it. I screwed everything up and ran away and left you when all I wanted was to never ever leave you."

Blaine pauses and runs his fingers through his curls again, making them stick into every direction but for once not caring about that at all. "And I'm... I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm so, _so_ sorry for pushing you away and leaving you and being an idiot. I have no excuses, except my own fears and stupidity – and wow, I'm really saying the word stupid a lot today, but it doesn't make it any less true. And you don't..."

He swallows. This is the hardest part, the part he doesn't really want to say but needs to, so he keeps going. "You don't have to forgive me. You don't have to feel anything for me, you can kick me out the minute I've finished this very disorientated and messy speech and that would be okay, you have the right to do that, but the thing is that... I'm in love with you, Kurt. I know it probably sounds silly when we haven't seen each other for several months and I was your bodyguard and we had a very exceptional professional relationship, but it was exceptional because I was in love with you. Because I _am_ in love with you. Because I don't want to live without you. God, that sounds huge, but it's true. I could live without you, but I don't want to. It makes me miserable and sad, and I didn't want to lie to myself anymore. I don't want to be afraid of failing anymore. So I guess what I'm doing here in New York is... asking for a second chance. If you would like to give me one."

It's silent when Blaine finishes talking. He feels out of breath, his mouth dry and exhausted, as if he just poured out all the words that have been locked inside his mind for months. He can't remember the last time he said so much in one go, if he ever even has before, and he doesn't remember if he managed to say everything, if he managed to put emphasis on how stupid and scared he was and on the fact that he's in love with Kurt. All of his carefully crafted plans have scattered around his mind, all the thoughts Cooper and Wes had given him disappeared from his head, and he's too afraid to lift his head and meet Kurt's eyes again. This is the one thing he desperately doesn't want to fail, but if Kurt doesn't want him, if Kurt has never even wanted him, no matter what Wes and Cooper believe – well, at least Blaine tried.

"I guess I should be angry at you," Kurt says quietly after a long time. "I should never want to see you again, after the way you treated me in the hospital when I was still thinking that you could have died and was having an internal panic attack because of it. After you said all those things to me when I thought you were my best friend, not just my bodyguard."

"I understand," Blaine says under his breath. "You don't have to..."

"But the thing is," Kurt continues, his voice getting a little louder, "I was an idiot as well. I should have remembered what you told me about your past, Blaine. I should have tried to understand. I should have listened to you instead of shutting you out in a moment of irrational anger – god, that really wasn't a nice thing to do at all. I should have talked to you. I should have said something earlier, especially when..."

He stops, suddenly sounding a bit shy, and Blaine's head snaps up. There's a small smile on Kurt's face, a hesitant but beautiful smile, and the feelings in Blaine's chest start fluttering their wings, like birds shaking the last remnants of sleep from their bodies.

Kurt looks Blaine straight in the eyes and says, "When I'm in love with you as well."

Blaine blinks dazedly. "You... are?"

Kurt nods, the hesitancy disappearing. "Of course I am. How could I not be? Blaine, I tried to move on for three months but I just can't, not without you, not when I always meant that I wanted to move on _with you_ , ever since I started talking about it before that concert. I didn't want to do anything when you were still my bodyguard and I was scared as well, so incredibly scared, but I was going to tell you how I feel when I came to visit you in the hospital, but then you..."

Blaine groans, burying his face in his hands. "Oh god. I am such an idiot."

Kurt laughs, the sound bright and loud in the quiet hallway. "No, Blaine – you're not. You made some odd choices, but that doesn't make you an idiot. Besides, I should have realized that 'moving on' wasn't exactly the best possible word choice, all things considered." He shrugs. "Maybe we were both idiots."

"Maybe," Blaine repeats into his hands.

"I forgive you, by the way," Kurt remarks. "I already forgave you months ago."

"You did?" Blaine asks, lifting his head and staring at Kurt, not quite believing that this beautiful man in front of him is actually saying all these things, that this isn't just another dream he has in the middle of the night when he finally falls asleep. That he might actually get his second chance.

"I did." Kurt smiles. "I thought that you didn't want me, but I forgave you because I missed you too much not to." He pauses, looking a little hesitant again, his hands starting to move nervously. "I just... I hope you can forgive me for being stupid and scared as well?"

"Of course I can," Blaine breathes out, taking a step towards Kurt. "I mean I do, I do forgive you, Kurt. I missed you as well – I should have just said that somewhere in my speech, I had planned to say it, but I didn't... I was so nervous that I just..."

"Blaine," Kurt interrupts him. "That speech was lovely. _You_ are lovely."

"And you're in love with me," Blaine says, the sentence sounding like a question because he's not sure he has grasped it yet, has understood it completely, has let the hope growing inside of him turn into reality.

Kurt laughs again and nods, and Blaine has to take another step towards him, has to move into his personal space now that he can. They are suddenly standing so close to each other that their breaths are almost blending together in the air between them, and Kurt's breath smells like coffee, like the distant mornings when they sat together in the kitchen and talked about everything and anything. Blaine wonders if Kurt's mouth tastes like coffee as well, if he could taste the countless mochas Kurt drinks if he just closed the remaining inches between them and kissed him.

Blaine really wants to kiss him.

Kurt's eyes are wide open and staring into his, completely unafraid and unabashed, almost challenging him to take the first step. Blaine's eyes dart to Kurt's lips, and he can see Kurt swallow, the only sign of nervousness creeping through. Kurt's hand rises slowly to Blaine's chest, resting against his racing heartbeat, and that touch is all it takes. Blaine can't be still anymore. He can't hold himself together anymore.

His own hand moves to cup Kurt's cheek, and then he's angling his head and closing the distance between them, meeting Kurt's lips gently and closing his eyes to just feel Kurt – feel his soft and wonderful lips against his own, his nose against his cheek, his delicate skin against his hand. Kurt's fingers grasp his shirt tightly, pulling him even closer, and suddenly Blaine's senses are full of Kurt, Kurtkurtkurt _kurt_ , and why on earth did he wait this long to kiss him?

Everything about their first kiss is slow; there is no rush, no hurried movements, and Blaine thinks absent-mindedly how fitting it is for them. Their whole relationship has been about slow build, evolving from professional to good acquaintances to friends to _this_ , this wonderful world full of colors and kisses and touches and Kurt. Blaine knows it's sort of his fault, that he was the one distancing himself and running away (like he always does, he always runs) – but he came back. He figured everything out, eventually.

He is done with running. With being afraid.

Blaine opens his eyes for a moment, still pressing his lips against Kurt's, and sees that Kurt's eyes are open as well. He is staring at Blaine like he can't believe this is happening, like this is too good to be true, and Blaine feels his heart skip a beat when he realizes that Kurt thinks _he_ 's too good to be true, when Blaine has always been the one thinking that Kurt is unreal.

He breaks the kiss, his lips still brushing Kurt's lightly, and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry it took me so long," he says quietly, hoping Kurt understands how much weight the words have.

Kurt rests his forehead against Blaine's and gives a laugh. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry it took me so long as well," he whispers, and then he surges towards Blaine, sucking Blaine's lower lip into his mouth, wrapping his arm around Blaine while his other hand sneaks into Blaine's hair, grabbing his curls and holding him tight.

It's desperate and passionate, all slowness gone and forgotten, and if Blaine thought slow build was nice, this is _so much_ better. His own hands flail in the air for a moment before they settle on Kurt's back, pulling his whole body closer until there's no space between them, no kilometers or doubts, no barriers of professionalism or distance.

Kurt's mouth does taste like coffee. Like the sweetest coffee Blaine has ever had.

Blaine can feel Kurt's fingers, warm and long, roaming his back, mapping his muscles and shoulder blades, and that seems to be the permission Blaine has been looking for, because suddenly he realizes that yes, he can touch Kurt now, it's allowed or even expected. He can measure Kurt's shoulders and waist, he can let his hands acquaint themselves with the back of Kurt's neck, with the soft short hair at the nape of his neck, with the barely visible freckles spread across his cheeks, with the soft strands of his hair, with the warm tongue exploring Blaine's own mouth.

Kurt is taller than him, not much but he is, and even though Blaine has always been aware of the height difference it feels even more prominent when Kurt leans into the kiss, crowding Blaine backwards until his back hits the door. Blaine gasps into Kurt's mouth, all his senses tingling from so much contact, so much heat and pressure against his body.

Until he feels something wet on his cheek.

He blinks his eyes open and carefully disentangles himself from Kurt, leaving his hands on Kurt's hips. Kurt chases his mouth, looking at Blaine with confusion. His pupils are dilated, the collar of his shirt askew, his hair a mess and his lips red and a little swollen (and Blaine did that, he made that happen) – but then Blaine notices the few silent tears falling slowly down Kurt's cheeks.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, suddenly worried. "Why are you... What's wrong? Oh god, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Kurt laughs, watery and choked up, but he shakes his head, still clinging to Blaine's body, leaning against Blaine's chest. "No, god, nothing like that. I just... I thought I'd never get to do this. I never let it show, but I really thought I'd lost you before I even properly had you."

Blaine feels a pang in his heart and he quickly drops several soft kisses on Kurt's lips. "I'm sorry, god, Kurt, I'm so sorry –"

"It's alright. We both messed up." Kurt's lips turn into a smile against Blaine's lips. "But you're here now, aren't you?"

Blaine nods fervently. "Yes. _Yes_ , I am. And I will stay here, for as long as you'll let me."

Kurt blinks his eyes, more tears falling down his cheeks, and then he twines his arms around Blaine, resting his head against the curve of Blaine's neck and leaning into his body so that they're completely wrapped around each other, the heat of their bodies merging together in the nonexistent space between them. Blaine strokes his hands down Kurt's back, feeling the tiny tremors there, and he draws him even closer, as close as he can. He can't believe he almost let this all go. That he almost lost it.

Kurt shifts against him, his hair brushing Blaine's cheek. "... Blaine?"

"Hm?"

"I'm... I'm never saying goodbye to you. Not anymore."

Blaine's hands stop their movement. The feelings inside of him spread their wings even more, the bars of the cage rattling harder and harder until they snap, breaking into tiny pieces like they're made out of glass, and then his feelings are fluttering their feathers, shaking off dust and starting to sing. Blaine feels like he can't breathe, like he's going to be crushed under everything, like he's drowning on himself, like he's too full and he's going to burst soon – and is this what it feels like to be in love? Is this what it feels like to be loved in return? To be free?

"Kurt –" he gasps out. Kurt lifts his head from Blaine's shoulder and then their lips meet again, desperate and insistent, their hands exploring every inch they can reach, their whole bodies sliding together like they can't get enough. Before he even realizes it Blaine's hands slip under Kurt's shirt, touching the radiating skin, running over faint hair and trembling muscles, making Kurt shiver against him. Kurt’s own hands start dipping lower and lower on Blaine's back, pulling at the hem of his shirt. They are both panting into each other's mouths and Kurt's thigh is pressed between Blaine's legs, warm and real, and Blaine thinks he has never felt more alive, more complete.

"Do you... Do you want to take it slow?" Kurt asks with his lips still pressed against Blaine, mouthing his skin like he can't get enough of it. He's breathless and gorgeous, his cheeks flushed and his eyes hooded in a way that makes something swoop low in Blaine's stomach.

"Not anymore," Blaine whispers and kisses him again.

 

\---

 

The Chinese take-out never arrives, and Kurt's phone is left on the hallway floor, completely forgotten. It buzzes a few times when Rachel tries to reach him.

No one answers.

 

\---

 

Kurt wakes up to sunlight shining into his bedroom through the drapes. The dawn is breaking, and there are small specks of dust dancing in the beam of light, only noticeable when the sun hits them in just the right angle. Kurt blinks his eyes sleepily, barely awake as he watches the dust specks move across the room, letting his mind take its time to catch up.

There is a weight over and next to him, a warm arm slung over his stomach and a naked body pressed against his own, his legs tangled up with someone else's. The only voices in the whole world seem to be the distant hum of the city outside the bedroom window and the soft breathing of the person lying next to him, puffs of air tickling the sensitive skin of Kurt's chest.

Kurt doesn't look down, not yet. Instead he just keeps watching the sparkling dust specks, lazy and blissful, wanting to drag out this moment for as long as he can. He doesn't want to see the person on the bed with him yet; he wants to feel him for a moment longer, feel the weight and warmth now that he can, now that he's allowed and maybe even expected to touch, to move his fingers slowly across the sweaty skin.

Kurt closes his eyes, the sunlight painting the insides of his eyelids red and orange, and he can feel his own lips turn into a smile. The man next to him snuffles, burying his face against Kurt and then giving a quiet contented sigh, like he never wants to get up, and Kurt thinks he might feel the same way. Everything he needs and wants is right here, on this bed with him, in the beat of his heart, in the knowledge that there is another heart beating right next to him.

He trails his left hand down the man's spine, feeling the small bumps of bone against his fingertips, and thinks about how complicated humans actually are. They might look simple, just bones and flesh and skin, all of them assembled together from the same ingredients, all of them feeling things in a similar fashion, all of them holding a shield in front of themselves, whether it's clothes or words or fear. All of them so fragile in the end. So breakable, both physically and mentally. But it isn't that simple, it never is, because humans are not as simple as they look like. They have endless depths, complex feelings, inexplicable beauty, reasons that sometimes make them act and sometimes don't, strength to keep going no matter what happens. Isn't it actually quite remarkable to find someone who feels the same way as you do in the middle of all those complexities, to share something in common with that someone despite all your differences? To have something this simple and complicated after all the hardships and mistakes, after all the wins and accomplishments?

"You're awake," Blaine mumbles against his chest.

Kurt blinks his eyes open, not stopping his hand on Blaine's spine. "I am. How did you know?"

"Your breathing changed. And I could feel your fingers moving down my spine. Deliberately." Blaine's voice is heavy with sleep, but he shuffles closer, and Kurt could swear he can feel Blaine's eyelashes on his skin, feather-like and faint.

"Sorry," Kurt breathes. He stills his hand. "I just couldn't stop touching you."

"Mhm. I don't mind. It felt nice."

Now Kurt can definitely feel Blaine's mouth curve into a smile, dry lips against his own heated skin, and he finally bends his head and looks down at Blaine. Blaine's eyes are still closed, his eyelashes quivering on his cheeks, but he is smiling like he's perfectly happy, like everything is right in the world. Kurt doesn't think he has ever seen Blaine look so content, and the realization that Blaine looks that way because of him, because of Kurt, fills his insides with something warm and gentle, something inexplicable.

Blaine's curls are ruffled, and when Kurt looks at his other hand resting on Blaine's arm he notices how much darker Blaine's skin is, tanned against his own paleness. He hasn't noticed it this well before. He has never been this close to Blaine before, with absolutely nothing between them.

There are still things they don't know about each other, things they have to work out, things that the world will throw in front of them, obstacles and problems, but as Kurt entwines the fingers of his right hand with Blaine's over his chest, watches the way their hands slot together, he thinks that they'll be alright. He can feel it, somewhere deep inside of him, how things are only going to get better from now on. It feels a lot like coming home. Like he won't be alone anymore.

Blaine stirs against him. "You don’t think this is weird?" he murmurs.

"What do you mean?" Kurt asks, resuming the movement of his left hand on Blaine's back, drawing patterns and spirals on his skin.

"Us, in bed," Blaine explains. "When three months ago I was your bodyguard. When I was a stupid idiot three months ago."

Kurt laughs softly. "I told you, we were both idiots." He presses a small kiss on top of Blaine's head and Blaine hums. "Besides, I don't care about the fact that you used to be my bodyguard. I care about _you_."

Blaine opens his eyes slowly and gazes up at Kurt with a goofy grin on his face. "You're so much better with words than I am."

"Yes, that is one of my talents," Kurt answers, preening a little. "But don't sell yourself short – you gave quite an impressive speech last night." Blaine huffs out a laugh, but then Kurt remembers what they were talking about, sobering and narrowing his eyes. "Do you... Do you still think of me as your client?"

Blaine shakes his head immediately. "No, of course not. Haven't thought for a long time. I guess it's just..." He laughs, his voice still low and laced with sleep. "It's an unusual way to meet your... What are we?"

Kurt bites his lip. "Boyfriends?" he suggests.

Blaine smiles, gentle and amazed. "Boyfriends. I like that." He hooks his naked leg over Kurt's thigh, as if he's trying to get even closer to him, skin against skin. "I like that a lot. It's an unusual way to meet your boyfriend, that's all."

"Well, yes." Kurt rolls his eyes. "But I guess the point is that we met. Not how we met."

Blaine is silent for a moment, breathing against Kurt's side. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and shy, another thing that Kurt has never heard before, another thing Blaine is allowing him to have, and it makes him feel like flying.

"I think... I think you might be that person, Kurt."

Kurt had almost forgotten how much he loves the way Blaine says his name, how he draws the vowel out like he wants to treasure it in his mouth, like he's kissing Kurt just by saying his name. Kurt never wants to forget it again.

"What do you mean?" he asks with a smile.

"You know," Blaine says, grasping Kurt's hand tighter, "that person who makes you stop and say to yourself... 'Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever.' I... I think you might be that person for me."

Kurt can't help but laugh, watery and overwhelmed. "Blaine. That sounds so silly."

"What?" Blaine whines. "I was trying to be romantic! You were saying all those nice things and massaging my back in a way that makes me want to purr, so I..."

Kurt grabs his face, angling his own head a bit more, and then he kisses Blaine on the lips, stopping the words that are about to rush from Blaine's mouth. It's slow and sweet and still so new, the slide of their lips against each other, the way Blaine's lips open under his, willing and trusting. When Kurt eventually pulls away, trying to get his breath back, Blaine's lips try to follow his, as if he can't get enough of Kurt. He probably can't, judging from the way he has folded himself around Kurt, but Kurt doesn't mind. His walls and personal space issues seem to fly out of the window when it comes to Blaine, and he isn't going to miss them.

Blaine licks his lips, staring into Kurt's eyes. Kurt doesn't think he'll ever get over the way Blaine looks at him – like Kurt is the most beautiful and wonderful thing he has ever seen, like Blaine can't believe he's actually here. Kurt has a feeling that Blaine can see the same emotions reflected in his eyes, and if Kurt can, if he's allowed to, he will spent the rest of his life proving to Blaine that he's not going anywhere, that he's not letting go of Blaine again.

Kurt smiles, smoothing Blaine's curls and feeling like the silly romantic dreams of his childhood just came true.

"I think," he whispers, leaning closer to Blaine. "I think you might be that person for me as well."


	21. Epilogue

The opening night of Andrea's play is a success. As the lights over the stage fade and the orchestra plays the last note the audience is already on their feet, applauding and stomping and whistling. Kurt and Blaine are among them, Blaine yelling excited compliments and comments into Kurt's ear over the noise, raving over the costumes and the performances and the songs. Kurt ducks his head and laughs, his hair perfectly coiffed and his suit impeccable, and even though Blaine is always proud to be with Kurt, always has been and always will be, in that loud moment he's even prouder to know that after everything this gorgeous man is his. That he is Kurt's.

Some time later Blaine is standing outside the theater with his hands in his pockets, humming one of the songs from the play that won't leave his head. He's waiting for Kurt, who was immediately swept away by reporters and other guests, all of them wanting to know his inspiration for the costumes, for the radiant colors in them, for the little quirks they all have, making the contemporary clothes seem timeless, making them reflect the characters' personalities and bring them to life. Kurt had thrown an apologetic look at Blaine over his shoulder, mouthing the words _wait for me?_ – as if he even has to ask.

Blaine will gladly wait for Kurt.

It's almost strange how easily they have fallen into the routine of being a couple instead of a bodyguard and a client. Then again, it's not so different from the way their relationship was before, as if they were both only waiting for the right moment to be free. They still walk close to each other, they still go out together and share the same bed. They still sit in the living room together, Kurt working on his designs and Blaine on his lesson plans, but it's not out of necessity anymore. It's not because Blaine has to see Kurt at all times – it's because Blaine wants to see Kurt as much as he can, because Kurt wants to feel Blaine's presence next to him as often as he can. It's because it's what they want, what feels right.

A group of teenagers rushes past Blaine, giggling and talking loudly, and Blaine smiles fondly at them. There were quite a few school groups at the premiere, given the theme of the play, and Kurt had explained that Andrea had specifically wanted to invite middle and high school students. Something about giving them hope, about showing them that school doesn't last forever, and Blaine thinks he understands.

He has just started rocking on his heels, his fingers tapping a rhythm against his thigh, when there's suddenly a surprised voice next to him.

"Mr. A?"

As Blaine turns his head towards the sound he sees that one of the teenagers, a round-faced girl with long dark hair, has stopped a few feet from him, staring at him a little hesitantly. Blaine blinks, and then he recognizes her features; she looks a bit older, a bit more matured with a faint scar on her temple, but surely it can't be –

"Viola?" he breathes out, and the girl's face breaks into a grin.

"I knew it was you!" she exclaims, bouncing a little on her feet. "I saw you and thought, wow, he sure looks a lot like Mr. A, except what would he be doing in New York – but it is you! Are you here to see the play as well?"

Blaine shakes his head to clear his mind, not sure if his brain or mouth or anything is working normally right now, still not convinced that his eyes are not betraying him. "I – I mean, yes, I am, but... I live here now. I just started teaching in a middle school here."

Viola whistles. "Wow, that sounds great. I kind of... had a feeling you wouldn't stay at that school back in Ohio." She gives a sad smile.

Blaine swallows. "Are you – how are you? Is everything alright?"

"I'm great! I go to a school upstate!" Her smile widens and turns into a genuine one. "I love it there. The teachers are really nice – of course not as nice as you were, but..."

Blaine laughs, overwhelmed and a little disbelieving. "Thanks, Viola, but I'm not your teacher anymore. You don't have to be so nice to me."

"No, I mean it, Mr. A," Viola stresses. "You... You were the first person I came out to, and you made it sound like everything would be okay. I will always remember that."

She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like she's not afraid of anything, not anymore. Blaine turns his head away for a moment, blinking away the tears that have suddenly pooled in his eyes before he turns back to face his former student again, this time with a soft smile. "I'm... I'm glad I could help."

Viola grins, and Blaine lets himself grin as well, the corners of his mouth stretching and pulling his lips without him being able to stop it.

"Do you... Do you still play the piano?" he asks after a while.

Viola rolls her eyes. "Of course I do. I'm going to be the best concert pianist this country has ever seen, you just watch me."

"I can't wait," Blaine answers, meaning it as well, and when Viola ducks her head with a small blush he is reminded of the time he was her teacher, of the way she used to sit behind the piano before every lesson and practically bounce on her seat when they were going through something most of the other kids found boring or unnecessary. How small she had looked when she'd approached him after class and asked if she could talk with him.

"Vi! We have to go!"

Viola turns to look over her shoulder. Another girl is waving at her, standing a little to the side from a group of students gathered around their teacher. Viola turns back to face Blaine, her eyes apologetic. "Sorry, I have to go now. But it was really great to see you, Mr. A."

Blaine tips his head. "Likewise. I'm glad you're doing so well."

Viola gives another grin, and then she's off, running towards the other girl with a spring in her step. Blaine watches as they collide, bumping their shoulders together and talking excitedly. The last thing Blaine sees is Viola twining her arm around the other girl, throwing her head back in a laugh before they both join the group of students and disappear into the stream of people around the theater.

Kurt appears next to him at that moment, looking happy and a little breathless, probably from all the talking he's had to do. He takes Blaine's hand, his fingers warm in the brief chill in the air, and Blaine squeezes back, still looking after Viola even though he can't see her anymore.

"Who was she?" Kurt asks, leaning against Blaine and pressing a quick peck on his cheek.

"Just... One of my old students," Blaine answers, turning to look at Kurt. Kurt searches his gaze for a moment, confused, and then realization seems to dawn on his face, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open.

"Oh." He looks at where Viola disappeared, at the bustle of the city, resting his cheek on Blaine's shoulder. "She seems to be doing well?"

Blaine smiles. "Yeah. She really does."

Kurt doesn't say anything, just smiles back and presses another kiss on Blaine's mouth this time, soft and warm and light, like the feathers of a bird shivering against Blaine's lips, and Blaine keeps his eyes open, not wanting to miss anything.

Almost the only thing that has changed drastically between them since they became a couple is the intimacy – the clasped hands, the hugs, the fingers brushing strands of hair from Kurt's forehead or drawing patterns on Blaine's arm, the feeling of skin pressed against skin. All of them changes that Blaine most definitely relishes and adores, things that make him feel like singing his heart out.

And the kisses. Don't even get him started on the kisses.

Kurt breaks their kiss after some time, smiling at Blaine, the special smile that Blaine has realized is meant just for him, just for moments like this. Blaine feels something warm spreading inside of himself, a contented weariness that makes him just wish he could bask for a while longer, settle in this moment where absolutely everything seems to be right in the world.

"I love you," he whispers.

Kurt's eyebrows rise in surprise, and for a fleeting second Blaine thinks it was too soon, too much, too awkward, but then Kurt's smile broadens, his whole face breaking into a beaming grin that seems to light up every corner inside Blaine's heart and chase away anything that's left of his doubts. It makes Blaine think of second chances and courage, of love and safety.

Of freedom.

"I love _you_ ," Kurt says, his eyes shining like he can’t stop smiling. "I do, of course I do. I can't believe you got to say it first."

Blaine laughs softly and leans in for another kiss. They take their time, breathing in each other, memorizing again all the details that they'd already memorized when they kissed for the first time but that are still so new, and Blaine thinks that maybe this is what it'll always be like for them, both new and familiar at the same time. Maybe everything will always be breath-taking and wonderful when it comes to Kurt and Blaine, to Blaine and Kurt. Maybe they can get through anything, as long as they're together.

Kurt is still looking delighted when they break apart, his cheeks tinged pink. "Ready to go home?" he asks, a slight lilt in his voice.

Blaine nods, beaming a little himself. He links his arm with Kurt's, and together they start to make their way through the streets of New York, not bothering with a taxi this time. The city hums and buzzes around them, people and cars and billboards, all of it familiar and comforting.

"The main character had nice clothes," Blaine points out after a while.

"He does." Kurt smiles and leans against him. "He really does."

 

 

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Essi, Inez and Em for helping me with this fic, and thank you to everyone who has commented, rated or just read my fic! This was the first multichapter I have ever published, and I certainly didn't expect to get such a lovely response to it. :)
> 
> Please check the [masterpost on my tumblr](http://afterthenovels.tumblr.com/post/37191799230/masterpost-to-shield-and-to-protect) for more info about this fic.


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